Turn the Hourglass Over
by mysedai
Summary: Angel and Spike have returned to claim their places in Buffy's life. Now, all she needs is time, and a lull in demonic activity, near-death experiences, and personal crisis to think things through. AU, diverges at Angel: After the Fall #16.
1. Prologue: The Best Way Out of Hell

**Is there really a need for a disclaimer? Does anybody out there actually believe that I'm posting fanfiction because I'm bored of cashing checks from my Buffy-related day job?**

**Special thanks to my beta, The Imperfectionist. I absolutely could not have done this without your guidance and amazing eye for detail.**

**Thanks also to AllyPetals , my advocate to the muses, for the hours of 'rubber balling' ideas.**

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><p><em>"When the Furies be your ushers and the shadows be your guide<em>

_The best way out of hell is through the other side."_

_-Roger Clyne_

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><p><em>Prologue:<em>

The Cave Demon considered the two vampires before him. One he'd seen before- recently, in fact- the other, he knew only by reputation. He decided he would give them whatever they'd come for- within reason. Oh, he'd make them work for it, but he knew that his fighters would fall to Spike and the Scourge, who was ironically called Angel these days.

Finding the balance of granting or refusing wishes was tricky, but after more than a millennium, the Cave Demon had worked out a nice system. Beings with a nasty enough reputation would have their wish; the wimpier ones were dispatched of. Those who fell in between the two categories were given the opportunity to win their prize.

It was terrible that such calculations and machinations had to go into it. Once, there was a time when any being would be in for the fight of their lives, but the Cave Demon and his soldiers had been tied to this cave for nearly fifteen hundred years. If a few visitors weren't allowed to leave and carry the tales of this place, they'd never have a break in the monotony. Of course, if just anybody's wish were granted, word would get out that he was a captive, and soon enough he'd go from Cave Demon to Slave Demon.

Though the Cave Demon had already made his decision, the old forms had to be recognized. They would 'talk demon' for a bit before the fighting began, his men would get a good workout, the "triumphant" demon would tell them what they came for, and the deed would be done. He hoped his men remembered to stay down after they fell, at least until their guests were gone.

"You seek," he began in his gravelly voice, the one he saved for company. "But are you willing to pay the price for your desires?"

"I bloody well paid it the last time," the blond one snapped, lighting a cigarette.

The other responded only with a steely gaze. The Cave Demon sighed inwardly. The strong silent types weren't nearly as entertaining.

"To earn what you seek-"

"We have to pummel those nancy-boys you keep hidden away in here. I know the drill." He tossed his barely smoked cigarette into the sand. "Now, can we get on with it?"

For Spike's impertinence, the Cave Demon waved forward almost twice as many fighters as he'd originally planned. If what he'd heard about the two of them was true, they probably wouldn't die.

The battle raged intensely and before long the air was filled with the stink of vampire blood. The ground, however, was littered with the remains of his soldiers, and that pile was growing steadily. Interested in the strength of the two vampires who fought back to back, he motioned the rest of his men forward. It would do them good, he decided, to get off the proverbial bench, and it wasn't like they wouldn't rise as long as he lived.

The vampires' swords struck home with nearly every swing, but his men only managed the occasional glancing blow with theirs. Of course, their swords were flaming, giving them an extra edge.

Finally, it was done. The vampires were singed and bleeding, but they lived.

The Cave Demon scanned their thoughts to find what it was they'd come for, and stopped in shock. For over a thousand years, he'd granted power, objects, and magic, but this pair, arguably two of the most powerful vampires in the world wanted-

"And no tricks, either." Spike growled menacingly. "No rigged souls or nothing like that." He gave a meaningful glance at Angel, who still hadn't spoken. "And don't make us old. I don't fancy looking like a mummy."

"Very well." The Cave Demon used his most menacing voice, and he threw in a little light show for added oomph. Not a bad spectacle, if he did say so himself.

Angel and Spike, however, were in no position to appreciate it. If becoming a vampire is a painful business, losing that shell is worse. Each man felt as if every cell in their bodies were razed to ash, and then healed with vampiric speed so it could burn again.

Angel grunted against the pain before sinking to his knees.

Spike, on the other hand, screamed and chose violence as his outlet, flipping rocks, and throwing himself against the cave walls.

The pain went on for long minutes, or maybe hours. When the demons had been burned from their bodies, the two stood, panting, enjoying oxygen in their lungs for the first time in over a century.

The Cave Demon surveyed his handiwork, and turned away from the two mortals he'd recreated. He'd had a better than average show; now all that was left was some taunting, and he could go back to his game of checkers.

"All of this trouble for a girl?" he growled with just the right amount of menace in his voice, "Perhaps it's time to meet this Slayer for myself."

There, that would help keep them from figuring out that he'd been spell bound to this cave, he thought with satisfaction.

Behind him, Spike and Angel looked at each other with grim determination. There was no way they could let a threat against Buffy go unpunished.

They each hefted their swords, and with a whirl for added speed, swung towards opposite sides of the Cave Demon's neck.

They no longer possessed vampiric speed and strength, but they were strong, and they were fast. Still, it was lucky they'd coordinated their attacks; each sword cut halfway through the demon's thick neck and met in the middle. With a wrench, they finished severing his head and left it lying on the ground next to his body.

"Think he's actually dead?" Angel asked as they made their way out of the corpse-littered cavern.

"Of course not," Spike replied, "Everybody knows the bugger's bound to the cave."

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><p><em>Close your eyes, give me your hand... Do you feel my heart beating?<em>

_-The Bangles_

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><p>"Dawn! Could you get the door?" Buffy called to her sister when the bell rang. "Dawn?"<p>

There was no answer, and at the second ring, she abandoned the groceries she was putting away and went to do it herself. The new house was bigger than the one they'd lost in Sunnydale, so she'd had a little time to grumble to herself before she threw the door open.

Her irritation was forgotten when she saw the man standing on her stoop. He slouched a little, with his arm resting against the doorframe, but his tall, muscular body still filled up most of the space.

"Angel?" Buffy breathed the name.

Before he could reply, she launched herself into his arms. As always, being near Angel filled a long-cold part of her with warmth, and she wasn't sure if it was the fire between them or the sun that beat red against her closed eyes.

Very slowly, her thoughts penetrated the shock of seeing Angel. She pulled back and peered into his eyes.

"We're standing in sunlight."

Smiling broadly, Angel took Buffy's hand and pressed her fingers to his neck. She gaped at the feeling of his pulse beating against his skin.

"You… You're…"

"Human," he finished for her.

Buffy stood there dumbly, fingers still pressed against his pulse, trying to take it all in. She could still hear the kids next door playing in the yard and a lawn mower backfiring down the block, but they seemed far away. The world swam before her eyes, but the steady beat beneath her fingers tied her to reality, and slowly she focused on the man she'd loved since she was sixteen.

"Can I come in?" Angel asked with a half-smile. "I don't actually need the invite to come through the door. I could stand here in the sun for the rest of the day, for that matter, but it would be nice to know I'm welcome."

"Angel!" Buffy came back to her senses. "Of course you're welcome."

She stepped aside to allow her one-time lover into the house. When he'd stepped across the threshold, she turned back to close the door.

And then, she saw him. She shook her head, sure that she must be hallucinating from the shock of Angel's appearance. He tilted his head and they looked into one another's eyes for a long moment.

"Buffy," Spike said in greeting.

She took one hesitant step through the door, then another until she was only an arm's length away from him. Still their eyes held.

Buffy reached out a tentative hand and cupped his jaw. He was really there; bathed in sunlight and warm against her hand.

"How?" Her voice cracked, and tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

"It's a long story, love, and this is the important part."

Buffy fell into his arms, sobbing. She hadn't realized how big a hole losing Spike in Sunnydale had really left until she felt his arms around her and it began to close.

Spike comforted her with gentle words while she cried. He also ignored the pained look on Angel's face. He didn't quite feel bad for him, but he knew what Buffy-related pain was like, and he actually didn't wish that on his worst enemy.

Finally, her tears subsided, and she stepped back from his embrace.

"Four hundred sixty-eight days yesterday," she said, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, "Four hundred sixty-nine today, but today doesn't count, does it?"

"No, pet, today doesn't count." He smiled at her one last time before he looked away from her, to Angel standing in the doorway.

Buffy couldn't believe she'd forgotten him standing there. Forgetting Angel was something that was hard enough when he wasn't close, and she'd never been less than hyper-aware of him whenever he was around. But then, dead lovers didn't just come back from the dead every day, even in her world.

She led the two men- thinking of them as men instead of vampires would take some getting used to- into the kitchen. "Are you two hungry? I could make something."

"No, thank you, though," Angel said politely.

"Well, I'm bloody starved," Spike said, throwing himself onto one of the barstools that lined the kitchen island. "We haven't eaten today, or most of yesterday, for that matter."

"Are you sure you don't want something, too?" Buffy asked Angel. She planned to make him a plate anyway, but she thought she'd give him the chance to get over being polite first.

He responded with a shrug and an apologetic look that she took for a yes. But when she turned to the groceries to outline the possibilities, he gave Spike a sound slap on the back of the head. Spike turned on him with narrowed eyes, but just before he lunged, Angel gave a meaningful look at Buffy. Spike rubbed the back of his head and hoped that his eyes were promising his grandsire death at the next opportunity.

"I could do cheeseburgers, if you wanted, or BLTs, or quesadillas." When Buffy turned around the two men were the picture of innocence.

"Anything's fine, really," Angel told her, still not wanting to be a burden.

"I fancy a cheeseburger, myself. With French fries if you've got 'em." Spike told her with a sideways look at Angel. Truthfully, he didn't care what they ate, but now that he knew it was going to piss Angel off for him to have an opinion, he planned on riding that pony into the dirt.

"Sure. No problem." Buffy looked between the two men awkwardly for a second before she dove into the task of making the food. She decided it was good they were hungry. It gave her something to do besides gawk at Angel and Spike, or even do something more embarrassing. She was having uncomfortable visions of throwing herself at the two men. Hey, it had been a while.

"Is there something I can do to help?" Angel started to move from the doorway to the sink to wash his hands.

"No!" Buffy yelped. "I mean, no thank you. Just sit, over there. By Spike."

Angel knitted his brow while Spike smirked at him. Buffy had seemed glad to see him just a few minutes before, but now… well, things had always been confusing where the Slayer had been concerned. The time apart hadn't changed that, unfortunately.

Conversation was stilted at best. Buffy babbled while she cooked, and Angel replied in nervous monosyllables. Spike was the only one who seemed comfortable, but Angel had spent enough time with him to know when he was trying to cover up a bad case of nerves. This seemed to be one of those times.

When she was done, Buffy slid onto a stool across from them, watching the two men scarf down the food she made. There was something surprisingly domestic about the scene, and Buffy felt herself relax while she watched them.

"Buffy? Do I smell cheeseburgers? It's way too early for dinner, but I thought-" Dawn's words cut off as she came around the corner. "Angel? Spike? "She turned to her sister with a helpless look on her face. "Buffy?"

"Hey, Dawnie, um, this is kind of hard to explain, but-" Buffy's mind was a complete blank. She didn't know enough details to be able to explain what was going on.

"I was dust, and then I wasn't. Now we're both human and we came to find your sister," Spike simplified things in his sardonic way. "You been taking care of yourself, Bit?"

"Oh, boy. I, uh… uh-huh." Dawn finished lamely. Spike, she noticed, was just as good looking now as he'd been when she was fifteen, and he was concerned about her. He'd always watched out for her.

"Hi, Dawn," Angel said with one of his half-smiles.

"Hi, Angel," she replied shyly. Dawn's memories of the Angel were mostly just of his eyes. She'd always thought they looked so sad and gentle, even when he smiled. It was odd to think that she'd never actually met the tall man in front of her.

Angel and Spike went back to studying Buffy, who was looking down at her hands. "I'm just going to go hang out with some friends at the mall, or something," Dawn told them, even though nobody seemed to notice her. "I'll be home late, Buffy. Angel, Spike, it was really good to see you both."

"Can we be expecting a Scooby meeting, then?" Spike asked with a nod at the door Dawn had just disappeared through.

"No, I don't think so. If she tells anybody, it'll be Willow, and she'll know to give us some grown-up time." Buffy reached out, and touched each man on the back of the hand, savoring the warmth they gave off. Their skin, she noticed, seemed more pliable now than it had before. "I just can't wrap my head around this." She smiled at them. "How is it for you? I mean, to me, it seems like it would be a dream come true, but… was it worth it?"  
>"Yes. No." Angel looked down at their hands. "I honestly can't decide. Sometimes it feels great to not be inherently evil. I'll never have to worry about Angelus again."<p>

"Are you sure?" she asked him, wondering what he wasn't telling her, and ignoring the sickly look on Spike's face. "I mean, are you positive the curse doesn't still hold?"

"An unflawed soul was part of the prize. Spike thought of it."

"What prize?" Buffy addressed the question to Spike, guessing he'd be more forthcoming with the details.

"We fought the Cave Demon. Same bloke who gave me back my soul two years ago. We beat his boys, we got our wish, and voila."

"And you wished to be human?"

"Yeah, but we weren't stupid enough to not list some qualifiers. We didn't want to be old, and no two-bit souls, either. We're just a couple Joe Regulars, now."

Buffy snorted at the thought. "I have my doubts about _that._"

"Well, Angel is, anyway. I still have my good looks and charm."

"I have my doubts about _that_, too."

"You wound me, Slayer. Remember, it doesn't take a wooden stake to hurt me now."

"I'll try to keep the differences between vampires and humans straight, Spike."

"So, tell us what's been going on here." Angel tried to tell himself that he was making conversation, but he knew that he was just trying to keep the banter between Spike and Buffy to a minimum.

"We've spent the last year organizing the Slayers and rebuilding the Council. We're trying for more of a work-together approach between Slayers, Watchers, and Wicca than the Slayer equals slave one they used to have. Most of the original texts are gone, but the Council made digital copies of a lot of it, and some of the really important stuff was locked in vaults, so it didn't all go boom.

"Kennedy heads up the training grounds in Vermont. We have Slayers of all ages running around there, so the Watchers have to teach regular people classes, _and_ Slayer stuff. When the girls are ready, we send 'em to Faith in Cleveland. They keep the demons from getting too frisky with the little Hellmouth, and when they're ready, we give some of them a town of their very own. There's no lack of things going bump in the night."

"What do you do with the other ones?" Angel asked her, catching the little slip.

"We bring them here, to the big Hellmouth, if they still want to fight the good fight."

"Miami has a Hellmouth? How in the bloody hell did I miss that?" Spike asked in shock.

"Good question. I thought it was pretty obvious after Will Smith wrote that song. Only dark magic could make something that catchy."

"So basically," Angel said, "nothing's changed. We're sitting on top of a Hellmouth trying to save the world."

"We're sitting on the _big_ Hellmouth." Buffy corrected him, "And a _few_ things have changed." She gave them a meaningful look. "For one thing, I absolutely forbid either of you to sacrifice yourselves to seal anything." That earned disdainful snorts from both men. "Also, there are a dozen Slayers in this town. All of them are younger than me, and nearly as good in a fight. I mostly watch them slay and offer constructive criticism."

"I'll bet you're just loving that, aren't you, Slayer?" Spike asked, and for once Angel seemed to agree with him. "Being relegated to a figure-head in a war you've been fighting for a decade. Do you sneak out when nobody's watching to patrol some of the nastier parts of town?"

"Patrolling's not my job, anymore. I train the Slayers of tomorrow. I rally the troops. I make speeches. I-"

"You're bored as hell, is what you are. And I'll bet to keep yourself occupied you're taking crazy chances with your life," Spike growled, standing.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You just come waltzing back into my life and think you know what's going on."

"I know _you!_" Spike shouted, slamming his hand onto the counter. "Sometimes I know you better than you know yourself, and I bloody well know you aren't happily retired like everybody thinks."

Angel threw himself in front of Spike, who had taken an angry step toward the shocked Slayer.

"Everybody, just calm down. Buffy, as much as I hate to admit it, Spike's right. We both know you aren't going to just sit down and take up knitting because it would be the sane thing for you to do. You might fool them, but we know better."

"So what are you going to do?" Buffy snapped. "Turn me in? Tell everybody about my late-night vigilante… vigilante-ism?"

"Oh, that's a good one, Slayer. Stayed up all night thinking up that snappy comeback, did you?" Spike snarled, "What the hell does that even mean?"

Angel looked smug. "You know, Slayers are like vigilantes, so that makes her a vigilante among vigilantes. I got it, but if you don't _really_ understand Buffy, I can see how it would be confusing."

"Sod off." Spike spat the words through a clenched jaw. His eyes still blazed at the Slayer. _But at least_, Angel thought, _he stopped talking_.

"We aren't here to make your life more difficult, Buffy," Angel told her in what he hoped was a soothing tone, "We're here to help you."

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><p><strong>AN: Please Read & Review, because reviews are like sunshine and glitter and good, expensive tequila to fanfic writers.**

**This story is follows the canon Buffyverse up to the comics Angel: After the Fall #16, including Spike: After the Fall. It ignores the Buffy Season 8 comics completely.**

**Also, after a great deal of contemplation, I've decided to give a warning to my readers, because the epilogue could be considered misleading. I don't like spoilers, so I was hesitant to take this step, but it seems appropriate. This story is an alterverse fiction, but it is not an all-human alterverse. Spike and Angel not being vampiric is a catalyst, not the basis for my story.  
><strong>

**Edited on 5/9/2011  
><strong>


	2. I Guess it's too Early

**A/N:**

**I have to thanks The Imperfectionist, my oh-so-awesome beta, and AllyPetals, my conduit to the muse.**

**For my readers, I'd like to give a little information about continuity. While this story does take into account several issues of Angel: After the Fall, it is not necessary to have read it to understand what's going on. There are only a couple of ATF plot points that really matter in this story, and I think it's easy enough to follow along as I write Neither my beta or pre-reader have read ATF, and they haven't had any problems. If you'd like a summary of the plot points that are pertinent to this story, message me, and I'll be happy to supply it. **

**Please, read and review; even if all you have is some (constructive) criticism. Thank you all in advance!**

**-MySedai**

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><p><em>"I guess it's too early, 'cause I don't know where I stand."<em>

_-Joni Mitchell_

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><p><em>Chapter 1<br>_

"You know," Willow said with a smile in Buffy's direction. "One of the perks of being the commander of a small army of Slayers is that you get to order _other_ people to do the midnight patrol in the dingier cemeteries in town."

"Yeah, but this keeps my mind off-"

"The two sexy former vampires hanging out in your house?"

"You think they're sexy?" Buffy said, switching from pensive to gossip mode.

"Well, no," Willow admitted, "but I would if I didn't like chicks. And I do recall finding Angel fairly droolable back in my into-guys phase."

"I don't know what to do, Will. I've been avoiding home for the past couple days, but eventually I'll have to actually talk to them or find a new house."

"Xander would probably let you have his, if you wanted," Willow offered.

"Yeah, talk about somebody even less happy about our houseguests than I am."

"But, _why_ are you unhappy? You seemed pretty smiley when they both appeared, all human and curse-free."

"I _am_ happy. I'm a smile-a-palooza, especially that Spike's alive. I'm even really curious as to how it happened, but two of the three men I've loved in my life just showed up cured of the thing that kept us apart. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"The same thing you would with one, only longer?" Willow suggested with a wicked smile.

Buffy laughed. "OK, Miss Mind-in-the-Gutter… You raise a valid point, but, seriously, am I supposed to act like a horse trader? Do I look at their teeth, put them through their paces, and pick the one I want to ride home?" She made a face. "Did I really just say that?"

"It was probably a Freudian analogy, or something."

"Freudian analogy? Do those even exist?"

"Not before ten seconds ago, but you've always been creative." The pair laughed before Willow continued. "But, seriously, Buffy, until you talk to them, you don't know anything. And, I'm sure becoming human again was at least partially for your benefit, but being a vampire can't be easy; especially for the ones all tortured with souls. There were probably a lot of things that went into the decision to ditch immortality."

"Yeah, but Will-" Buffy broke off.

"What?" she asked, alarmed at Buffy's wide eyes.

"Duck!"

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><p>Spike leaned against the arched doorway between the kitchen and living room, arms folded against his chest. He watched Angel unloading the dishwasher, and the sight of his grandsire doing something so domestic was more jarring than seeing him tearing pretty white throats had ever been. "I'm planning on making the Slayer some nosh, so don't get any ideas," he told him, imperiously.<p>

Angel didn't blink, or even turn around to face the blond man. He just raised a stack of plates to slide them into their space in the cabinet. "I've already preheated the oven for pizza." His voice was mild, and it rankled Spike more than an insult would have.

"Well, I'm putting it in, then. And taking it out," Spike hurried to add, in case he thought he'd pull it out of the oven and take credit for it.

"Fine," he replied blandly.

Spike narrowed his eyes. He was bored, and thought maybe antagonizing Angel would at least relieve the monotony of the past few days, but he hadn't been able to get a rise out of him. The way he figured it, that almost certainly meant he was gearing up for a 'serious' discussion. It only took a second for him to decide that even hearing Angel brood aloud was better than sitting in the guest room waiting for Buffy to return from the patrol she'd taken with Willow.

"Spike," the question came while he was unwrapping the pizza. "What are we doing here?"

"I'm heating up pizza-flavored cardboard for the Slayer, and you're doing her chores." Spike replied carefully.

Angel rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Don't look at me, mate, it was your idea. I'm just along for the ride."

"I still don't understand that. You could have had the Shanshu. You're the only other candidate."

Spike shrugged, but for once answered honestly, "If the Senior Partners figured out a way to corrupt you, I didn't see much chance they wouldn't get to me, too. Went through a lot of trouble to get this soul of mine, and I don't fancy dirtying it up on their account."

"So it wasn't for Buffy, then." It wasn't a question.

"When LA got brought back, I knew I was coming to find her, but I never figured on doing it human. I tried real hard to let her go. Seemed like the right thing to do, but I'm not stupid enough to always do the right thing, now, am I?"

Angel smiled in spite of himself. "I don't know, Spike, I've seen you do some pretty stupid things. One or two of 'em must have been right."

"Wrong, right… It was all a good time, mate." He slid the pizza into the oven and checked the time. "That's all I ever really cared about 'til Buffy. I bought a white hat when I fell for her, but it was just another fight. Then she took her swan dive off that damn tower, and I did it because I knew she'd want me to. Wasn't until I got this spark," he tapped his chest, "it meant something to _me_."

Angel shuddered at the image of Buffy's death Spike painted. He still wished he'd been there to keep it from happening, but he was glad he hadn't witnessed it. He'd heard Spike relive it in his nightmares, and had no idea how he dealt with them. "I had a soul for a hundred years before I did something with it."

"Rubbish," Spike said, sarcastically. "You did some magnificent brooding."

"Until her," he agreed. "The first time I saw her, she'd just been Called. I saw how hard it was for her, and I wanted to protect her."

"Never thought much about protecting, but the girl I met didn't need it. I just wanted to be in on the fight, one way or the other."

"Do you think she needs us here?"

Spike shook his head. "Right question's whether she _wants_ us here."

"You think she wants us here?"

"Know for a fact she'd toss us out if she didn't. Hell, I figure the whelp would have tried by now, so she must have forbidden it."

Angel smiled, imagining the look on Xander's face if that conversation had, in fact, taken place. During the years he'd worked with the gang, he'd wanted to put the little brat in his place more than a few times, but it was always worth it to bide his time and let Buffy tear into him on his behalf. Her furyhad always taken his breath away. Figuratively, of course.

"I thought she'd be happier to see me," Angel admitted. "You know, there would have been some slow-motion running, swelling music, and the curtains closing over us kissing."

"Point one, you spent entirely too much time in Los Angeles. Point two, swelling music is highly overrated. It always stops, and then it's just awkward." Spike pulled the pizza out of the oven and wrapped it in foil to keep it warm. "But, who knows," he told Angel with a smirk, "it might have been just like that if I hadn't bollixed things up by not being as dead as previously expected."

The older man laughed, as they made their way into the living room. They settled onto the couch, and Spike handed him one of the bottles of beer he'd grabbed from the fridge. A rerun of Full House was playing, and they settled in to watch, both of them afraid the other would point out how lame it was and change the channel.

About fifteen minutes into the program, when an Olsen twin had broken the tension of the scene by doing something absurdly adorable, Spike spoke up, "I always thought Michelle would be a tasty mouthful. And there were two of them, so you could go back for seconds."

"Shut up, Spike." Angel said, disgustedly.

"Oh, please," he scoffed, "don't try to sell me a bill of goods. I know good and well you sat in your dark little room in the late 80s, hating Dave Coulier's hair and wishing you could eat a Tanner girl."

A moment of silence passed before Angel spoke, "DJ. I would bitten DJ, but I would _not_ have killed her."

Spike laughed and clinked his bottle against Angel's. "You always did like the feisty blonde ones."

"You wouldn't have wanted to eat the Olsen twins anyway. Word on the street is they're half havoc demon."

Spike shook his head, "I should have guessed that. No way those girls got to be billionaires on talent alone."

* * *

><p>When Buffy called out her warning, Willow dropped to the ground, just missing the vampire's lunge. Judging from the ugly blue suit he wore, the Slayer figured he'd just woken up. <em>Good<em>, she thought, _they're usually irrational when they're fresh from the grave_.

The vampire was overextended and off balance after he missed grabbing Willow, and Buffy grabbed his wrist, using his own momentum to drive a hard kick into his gut. The vampire recovered, threw his weight into falling backwards, and grabbed the lapels of Buffy's jacket to throw her over his head.

She sailed through the air, smashing into a monolith-shaped tombstone with an "Oof."

The second it took her to climb to her feet was enough for the vampire to rally. The two squared off against one another, taking measure of their opponent.

"You couldn't just die easy, could you?" Buffy asked, pulling Mister Pointy out of her sleeve, "You just had to pick tonight to really piss me off!"

Slayer and vampire launched themselves at one another in a flurry of blows. Willow considered giving her friend a hand, but after a minute or so, it became apparent that Buffy was just drawing out the inevitable to vent her frustrations.

Finally, the witch took pity on the battered vampire. "Buffy, I'm getting kind of cold," she called.

"Just a minute, Will. Let me just take care of Dude-in-the-Ugly-Blue-Suit."

"I have a name," he told her in a hurt voice. "It's Chester."

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "Let me take care of Chester-in-the-Ugly-Blue-Suit."

"Thank you."

Just then, Buffy found her opening, and drove her stake into Chester's heart.

"You're welcome," she said as he burst into dust.

"You get an A for effort, and a gold star for making dust." Willow told her proudly.

"Do I get anything for style?" Buffy asked her hopefully.

"No, I had to take away points for cruel and unusual slaying. It always makes me feel bad when you abuse them before you stake them."

"Yeah, there's probably something about that in the Geneva Convention. I never bothered to read it." Buffy's eyes widened in horror. "Don't tell Giles. He'd probably consider it a 'grave oversight' and get all puffy about it."

"Your secret is safe with me."

The two continued in silence for a few minutes.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah, Will?"

"What _are_ you going to do about Angel and Spike?"

"I haven't decided for sure, but I do know that keeping them around here is probably a good idea. I mean, they're stronger than regular humans, so they could be handy if they felt like fighting, but it's probably not a good idea for them to go back to LA in their new squishy human packaging."

"I doubt going back to LA was what they were planning on doing with those squishy packages." The young witch blushed. "I'm going to pretend that I said something less disturbing than that, and I'd appreciate it if you played along."

"Your wish, my command," Buffy promised as they neared the house they shared.

"Dawn's light is off," Buffy noticed.

"Yeah, but the television's on. That's probably the guys waiting to make sure you get home in one regular Buffy-sized piece."

Inside the door, the two said goodnight, and Buffy headed towards the living room … and Angel and Spike.

"Buffy, you're back." Angel didn't bother to hide his relief.

"Good hunting, Slayer?" Spike tried to play it cool. He might have pulled it off, if Buffy hadn't seen him pacing when she and Willow rounded the corner.

"Yeah, good guys: one, ugly blue suits: zero. I wonder why people insist on burying their loved ones in the ugly blues."

"Well, most people don't have a closet full of suits, and the black one is probably the one they wore on special occasions or to parties, so the blue one would seem more somber," Angel explained.

"Oh," Buffy looked at him. "You do know that was a purely rhetorical question and I didn't really want an answer, right?"

"Yeah, that seems pretty obvious now. We, uh, made dinner. Are you hungry?"

"You guys cooked? For me?"

"It's frozen pizza, pet, nothing to get worked up over. But, it is hot and waiting for you," Spike put in.

"Well, thanks." Buffy dropped onto the couch beside Spike while Angel went to grab the food.

"I don't know how to do this," Buffy confided to Spike. It felt good to be able to do it again.

"Do what, exactly?" He asked raising an eyebrow. "Be served dinner? I know you've had a distinct lack of coddling in the past few years, but even you should be able to sit and wait for an ex-vampire to bring you a plate of food."

Buffy rolled her eyes with a laugh. "No, you idiot, I meant I don't know what to do or say to you guys. I know that this is really big, and I'm doing it wrong."

Spike put his arm around her shoulders, but before he could respond, Angel arrived with the food. Buffy noticed the way his brow furrowed when he saw Spike's arm, but there was nothing she could do without actually making a scene, so she left it where it was.

"There isn't a right or wrong here. Miss Manners never covered anything like this in her column," Angel explained as he handed her the plate. "We want to be close to you because it's the only way we get to see that you're safe. Letting us be here to fight with you is the only thing we have any right to ask."

"_You_ read Miss Manners?" Buffy asked, deadpan.

Spike snickered, and even the corner of Angel's mouth quirked at the joke.

"Hey, Sunnydale was boring before you got there," he reminded them.

"Nancy-boy reading habits aside, he's telling it like it is, love. We just want to keep you safe."

"Why here?" she asked while Angel sat on the arm of the loveseat by her. "Why now?"

"We went to Italy looking for you. There was a nasty rumor you were shagging this bloke called the Immortal," Spike admitted, uncomfortably. He knew there was a distinct possibility this conversation was going to go badly.

"And that would have been bad because?" she prompted with a glare that put both Spike and Angel on red alert.

Angel and Spike looked at each other over her head. "Well, we don't trust him," Spike snapped.

"We have our reasons for not trusting him." Angel hoped he was saying the right thing to keep the peace. "But we thought you must have been under some sort of spell to have fallen for him. When we got there we didn't find you, but when we thought you were in trouble… Nothing else mattered except making sure you were safe. It gave us a little perspective."

Spike nodded in agreement. "Yeah. What he said."

"Thanks," she did appreciate the concern, but she was more than a little irritated that they'd just decided on a plan without asking her opinion. She was also touched at what they'd given up for her, so she decided that just this once, she could hold her temper. Besides, she could feel the tension coming off both Angel and Spike in waves. She let them stew for a bit while she ate a slice of pizza, then rose to go to bed.

"Well, I'm dead beat-"

"We're just glad you weren't beat dead," Spike quipped.

"And to spare you the worry, I took Willow out with me. But, right now," she continued, planting an elbow in his ribs. "I desperately need to crash."

Buffy started to her room, but stopped, "I really am glad to see you both. I don't know what comes next, but having you here… It's a good thing."

Angel gave a relieved smile and wrapped her into a hug before she had time to object. For a second, she was stiff, but then she melted into his embrace with a sigh and the rest of the world slipped away.

_God, Buffy, I've missed you_, Angel wanted to tell her, but he knew it would be unfair of him to mention it now. Cookie dough, he reminded himself. He hated the analogy, but it did keep him from winding his hands in her hair and kissing her until this damn human form ran out of air.

Spike clenched his jaw at the sight of his beloved Buffy wrapped in Angel's arms, but he didn't make a sound as he made his way to the guest room. _Might as well get used to it, mate,_ he thought to himself._ There's bound to be more where that came from._


	3. The Hardest Thing to Keep From You

**A/N: I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to my beta, **The Imperfectionist** , from whom my grammar flows, and to AllyPetals who hasn't yet gotten bored with hearing this story unwind, even when I tell her the far-flung plot lines that are years and years in the future.**

**I also want to thank the people who have taken the time to review, add me to a story/ author alert or story/ author favorite. You guys are super omega awesome! You too, dear readers, can join their club by clicking the little link at the bottom and leaving your own review. Please?**

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><p><em>Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you."<em>

_-Anberlin_

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><p><em>Chapter 2<em>

"Willow?" Buffy said in a sing-song voice, wafting a mug of coffee under the sleeping witch's nose.

"Mmm. Bramble feet slipping in the snow-shine," she murmured. Buffy laughed at her friend. Willow was just so _cute_ sometimes.

"No bramble-feet, Will. It's time to wake up." She said in her regular voice.

"But, I was having such a nice dream."

"About bramble-feet?"

"What on earth," Willow asked, sitting up, "are bramble-feet?"

"Good question. I heard a crazy lady mention them, once."

"Good coffee… Buffy all nice in the morning… Yep, my witchy intuition tells me you want something,"

"Can't I be nice to my best friend once in a while without ulterior motives?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, Buffy, you're nice to me lots of times!" Willow reassured her, laying a hand on her arm, "just not early in the morning. It's not really in your standard repertoire of nice to be anything but grouchy in the morning."

"Fair enough. I need you take a vampire off my hands for the day. An _ex_-vampire, I mean."

Willow nodded. "Which one? Just say the word, and I'll have some heavy boxes that need moving, or something."

"I don't care which one. I just need to talk to them one-on-one, and they're all band of brothers these days."

"Have you tried just asking one of them for a walk, or something?" Willow asked practically. "I mean, it's not like either of them have a known history of _not_ wanting to be alone with you."

"That's kind of the problem. I think that if I ask one of them before the other, they'll think I'm making some sort of decision, which I'm not."

"Not ever, or not yet?"

"I don't know. The whole thing is too confusing."

"So, am I going to have to start manufacturing a list of things to keep one occupied while you spend time with the other? Because, if so, I'm going to have to take up some heavier hobbies."

"Maybe a couple of times. I think it won't be a big deal once they've been reinitiated into the Scoobies and there's a legit reason to be with one or the other. Right now, though…" She trailed off. "It's tough because they're both feeling like outsiders, so they're-"

"Band of brothers-ing it?"

"Yeah."

"Okey-dokey. Consider one of them all tied up for the day. Well, not literally, because I don't swing that way, but you know, figuratively. You sure you don't have a preference?"

"No. Well, yes. Spike."

Willow nodded understandingly. "Makes sense. I mean, you've known Angel longer, and he's, well… _Angel_."

"Yeah," Buffy said absently. "What? No, I mean I need to talk to Spike first. Take Angel off my hands for the day, would you?"

"Well, that's not what I expected," Willow told her.

"They'll probably see right through this whole thing, and there at least a slight possibility Angel will take it better than Spike. Plus, however unfinished things have always been between me and Angel, it's where _we_ left it. Spike _died._ _"_

"And he died thinking you didn't love him?" Willow guessed softly.

"Yeah, that, too."

"OK, then. I'd better get up and start on a little bribery-breakfast. It'll make the whole thing seem less fraudy."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Cleaning the gutters, clearing out the garage, trip to the hardware store. That sort of thing."

"Just don't go too overboard, or Xander'll get huffy. Big strong man is kind of his gig."

"Don't worry, he mentioned re-shingling a few weeks ago. I figure when he finds out who is work crew is he's gonna break out his Snoopy dance."

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><p>Downstairs, Spike walked into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee for himself, and grabbed a couple of the pancakes Angel had piled onto a plate. "Those aren't for you," he said, trying to grab them back. "They're for Buffy."<p>

Spike twisted nimbly away, avoiding Angel's reach. He looked at the heaping plate pointedly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but she's an itty-bitty thing, our girl Buffy is. Not the type of girl who can put away a dozen pancakes."

"Some of them were for me."

"In that case, I'm _definitely_ doing you a favor." Spike smirked at the larger man and reached into a cabinet to grab a plate. When he turned back to grab the syrup on the counter, Angel lobbed a damp dishtowel that hit Spike full in the face and wrapped around his head, messing up his carefully combed-back blond hair.

"And now I've done you one," Angel said with look at Spike's hair, "so we're even."

"Oh, please." Spike scoffed. "You haven't gotten any better with hair since you turned up in a mirror."

"And that BrylCream comb-back hasn't been popular since the early '50s."

The two were interrupted by Willow before they could come to blows. "Oh," she said with a disappointed look on her face, "I was gonna make breakfast, but you beat me to it."

Angel grabbed a plate, threw a couple of the pancakes off the dwindling stack, and slid the plate in front of Willow.

"So, Red, who exactly you trying to curry favor with this early in the morning?" Spike asked her between bites of pancake.

Willow stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about," she bluffed badly.

"Well, see, I caught Buffy sidling up the stairs with a mug of coffee, all furtive-like, so I figure she wanted something from _you_. Angel made these pancakes for Buffy" Spike motioned with his fork, "because he wants something from _her_. Then, you come down the stairs all out of sorts because you were beaten to the skillet, so I figure you want something from one, or both, of _us._ _I_ seem to be the only one in the house," Spike leaned back in his stool and clasped his hands behind his head in a cocky gesture, "with pure intentions."

"I could just want to make breakfast, because, you know, I like you. Both of you. Not because I'm trying to butter you up, or bribe you, or anything corrupt or nefarious. I'm not nefarious. I'm as non-nefarious as a witch can be." Her babbling trailed off, as she stuffed a too-big bite of pancake into her mouth, her eyebrows drawn together in a nervous moue.

Angel and Spike shared a look over the top of Willow's head. Angel furrowed his brow, and Spike raised his, but their expressions were both concerned and maybe a little confused. It was obvious to them that Buffy'd sent her to split them up for the day, but what exactly did that mean? Had she made a decision about them, or was she trying to get them alone so she could feel out what she wanted? Both men worried that they'd lost her sometime over the past few days, while she avoided them.

"Ok, fine, maybe I'm a little bit nefarious. I need your help for the day." She looked at Angel, who looked away from Spike to focus on Willow with a tight smile. "You know, great big boxes that need to go about six and a half feet into the air, so you wouldn't even need a ladder. It's, um, safer if you don't need a ladder, so that's why I need you to lift the, um, boxes. 'Cause I'm all about safety and stuff." She trailed off lamely.

"Sure," he replied slowly, as though he'd been asked for his last words, "whatever you need." _She probably just wants to ask Spike about not being dead,_ he told himself sternly, _they'll probably just trade resurrection stories. They'll talk it out, and then we'll go on with our lives._ The words sounded right in his head, but he still felt a little bit sick about it.

Spike narrowed his eyes shrewdly, and glared daggers at his grandsire. He hadn't really expected to get the kiss off so soon. _Surely, _he hoped,_ Buffy needs more than a day or two to dismiss me altogether. Slayer probably just wants to talk to us separate, and Peaches lost the eanie-meenie-miney-mo._

Angel untied the dark apron he'd tied over his deep red shirt to keep from spilling batter on himself and lifted it over his head. "I'm ready whenever you are." Willow hurriedly stuffed a last bite of pancake into her mouth before she followed him out.

"You kids have a good time today. I'll take care of all this." He motioned to the plates and bowls leftover from their breakfast, as he tied the apron over his black t-shirt. "And, don't worry; I'll make sure Buffy gets her pancakes." Spike grinned evilly at the glare Angel shot over his shoulder before he stormed out the door.

A few minutes later, when Buffy came down the stairs, the first thing she saw was Spike. He'd positioned himself so that there could be no doubt he was waiting for her arrival.

"Well, Slayer, what do you want to do today?" he asked her cheekily.

"Why are you wearing an apron?" And, what makes you think I want to do anything?" she replied in irritation, pushing past him.

"I'm wearing an apron because _you_ have pancakes waiting for your breakfast." Not technically a lie, Spike thought to himself. "And, you went through a lot of effort to get Red to separate the two of us, so I figured you must want some alone time. I was shocked when she made off with Angel instead of me, though. Poufter must have drawn the short lot."

"Why would you assume I'd want to get rid of _you_ first?"

"So, you _did_ want to get rid of one of us?" Spike smiled wickedly.

"Yes- I mean, _no_. I'm not trying to get rid of anybody." Buffy cursed herself for falling into one of Spike's games. She'd forgotten how slippery he could be. Slippery _and_ frustrating. She took a deep breath, trying to get back on even footing, "And there were no lots. I don't leave things to chance."

Spike's smirk turned to shock, and he actually stood with his mouth slightly ajar for a few seconds before he recovered.

"Right, then." He swallowed. "What would you like to do?"

Buffy chewed on her pancake for a few moments, "I'm coming up blank. None of the stuff we used to do can be done during the day." Spike's smirk was back in full force before Buffy realized what she'd said. "Not that. Something different from that. There will be no that-ing."

"Whatever you say, love," Spike told her innocently.

"So, is there anything you still haven't done as a human?"

Spike snorted. "I've only been human about 72 hours. The stuff I've done is a short list, and most of it falls under 'necessity'."

"So you haven't been hiking, or to a park, or anything like that?"

"We went to Africa, got all mortal, came here. Aside from hanging out in your guest room or watching the telly, I haven't done a bleeding thing."

"Well, then, today can be your first human adventure," she told him. "We're going to the beach."

Something close to panic filled his eyes. "Why? We could just sit on the porch. No need to be all fancy on my account."

"Spike, stop whining. You aren't going to burst into flames. Well, not literally, anyway. You might burst into flames figuratively if we don't get you some really good sunscreen before we go. Besides, it's the last thing I ever thought we'd do together, so it's kind of perfect."

Spike didn't look convinced, but at least he wasn't arguing, Buffy thought, heading into the kitchen to pack a lunch.

"Go to the garage, would you? There're a couple of beach chairs under the stairs and an umbrella, too. Also, there's a Frisbee on the shelf over the freezer. Throw 'em in the car, would you? Not literally. What?" she asked at the pitiful expression he wore.

"It's just… What the bloody hell is a Frisbee?"

Half an hour later, Buffy'd thrown some sandwiches, soda, and chips into an ice chest, packed towels and some sweats into a beach bag, and changed into a blue bikini. She tied a sarong around her waist, grabbed her sunglasses and headed down the stairs for the second time that morning. Spike's breath hitched when he saw her, but all he said was, "This beach idea definitely has perks."

Outside, he walked to the passenger side and held it open, obviously intending for Buffy to get in.

"No license?" she reminded him. "You know, little plastic card with your picture. Makes it legal for you to drive…"

"Soon as Marvin comes through, I'll have the whole lot; license, birth certificate, passport, social security card. Hell, in a few weeks, I'll have a bleeding credit history."

"Marvin?" She asked him, as she climbed into the passenger's seat. Spike made his way around the car and answered after he closed the door behind himself.

"Clem's brother-in-law. You remember Clem?"

"Of course I do. Haven't seen him since Sunnydale, though."

"He's in and out of LA pretty regular."

"Where are we going?"

Buffy gave him directions to the store, but except for the occasional 'right' or 'left' a companionable silence fell between them.

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><p>Angel sighed as he watched Willow commune with the sapling lime trees lined up in the nursery. He wasn't sure what exactly she was looking for, but she'd been at it for a while, and it didn't look like she was going to stop any time soon. She moved down the line, tree by tree, touching them and looking at them as though she was having a deep conversation with each of them. As she moved past each tree, it seemed just a little bigger than it had. It would have been fascinating, if he could tear his mind away from Buffy and Spike. <em>What are they doing? <em>He fretted internally, hating himself for his jealousy.

After he lifted a single box of items that looked like they'd been hastily tossed in for their weight on to the shelf in Willow's closet, she'd bustled him out of the house, first to a hardware store where she'd spent nearly an hour debating the merits of one shovel over another and choosing a garden hose. Angel thought that maybe he didn't mind that Willow was trying to keep him occupied so much as the colossal wastes of time she was subjecting him to. Didn't she realize that his time was finite now?

"This one." Willow interrupted his thoughts as she proudly pointed to a tree that was a little smaller than most of its companions.

"I thought the idea was to find the _best _tree?"

Willow looked hurt, "I found the _right _tree, which is better than the best tree."

Angel blinked at the red-haired witch. He wasn't sure if there was a terrible flaw in her logic or if there was a lesson to be learned in her words. Instead of dwelling on them, he picked the tree up by its trunk and carried it to the checkout stand. Willow trotted next to him, chattering about finding the perfect spot for the tree and how nice and shady it was going to be in the backyard.

"Oh, we could put a patio set underneath it, and get a grill!" she exclaimed, happily.

"Willow," he told her, "it's gonna be years before this little guy's big enough to shade anything, let alone a spread of furniture."

"Piffle." The witch dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand, "This tree wants to be big, and I'm gonna help him. That's how I knew he was the right one."

"He?" Angel questioned. "So, back there, you were having a conversation with the tree and assigning it a gender?"

"Would it be wacky if I told you his name is Jerry?" For a second Angel saw the slightly goofy girl he'd known years ago.

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><p>"So, what color do you want? These are nice." Buffy held up a pair of swim trunks with blue Hawaiian print for Spike's opinion.<p>

"Bloody hell, woman, just because I'm human doesn't mean I have to start dressing like Xander. I'll want the black ones, obviously. With the swirly red things."

"I'm all for calling it like it is, but most people call the 'swirly red things' tribal art. It sounds more manly. Here, try these on," she said handing him a pair of aviator sunglasses.

"Do they have 'em with the black frames?" He asked, surveying himself in the mirror.

"You know, I think I may be starting to pick up on a theme here." She quipped, handing him the glasses.

"Much better." He nodded at his reflection approvingly.

"Does it take some getting used to?"

"Having a reflection? Yeah. Turns out that I'd come closer to forgetting what I look like than I realized. And, the scar," he motioned to his forehead, "is sexier than I thought."

Buffy laughed at him, "Let's see… You still need a hoodie, some sandals, and that heavy-duty sunscreen."

"That's too much to sneak out all at once. This'll do for now."

"Sneak – Spike, you aren't planning to _steal_ all this stuff are you?" Buffy asked.

"Well, of course I am. How else am I supposed to get it?"

"There's a line at the front of the store. You go through it, pay, and then leave without worrying about going to jail."

"Right, and I'm going to pay with what, exactly? My charm and good looks?"

"How about _I_ pay with money?" She asked.

"And how many shifts at the Doublemeat Palace is it this little outing going to cost, then?" He asked, jaw tightening.

"Spike," she explained. "Things are different now. When we started rebuilding the Council, one of the first changes we made was implementing a salary and benefits for the Slayers. We do it by rank, kind of like the military. I'm the highest ranked Slayer, so the money's not too shabby. Plus, I got back pay for all the time I've been a Slayer. Money isn't an issue, unless I go crazy on the yacht buying, or something.

"I'm not a charity case-"

"Try thinking of it as a gift," she advised him. When she saw him set his jaw stubbornly, she added, "or as a loan, if you must." How on earth could somebody who stole without a second thought have such an overblown sense of pride when it came to his self-reliance? "You know," Buffy mused, as a thought occurred to her, "the rest of the Scoobies work for the Council now. There's no reason you couldn't, too. If you wanted. You're one of the best fighters I've ever known. It would be good to have you train with the girls."

"When," he asked her with a raised eyebrow, "was I ever a Scooby?"

"Fine, then," she told him, heading pulling him toward the shoes. "You can be a Slayerette. "

"I'm not just _a_ Slayerette," he growled, "I'm _the_ bloody Slayerette."

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><p><strong>AN: I'm planning of posting chapters on Sunday nights or Monday mornings, so if you've subscribed, you have it to look forward to. Thanks again to all of you who have added me or the story to one of your alerts!**

**Please, take a second to review and tell me what you think so far. **


	4. While I Can

**A/N: First of all, a HUGE thank you to the people who have reviewed! Every single one of them made my day! I've put a lot of time into this story, and your feedback was kind of like payday. To everybody who reads and reviews this chapter, thanks in advance. You rock.**

**This chapter is crazy long. I considered splitting it into two chapters, but just couldn't find a reasonable place to do it. The Imperfectionist (beta extraordinaire) said I should just call it a gift, and that you could say thank you with a review, while AllyPetals (messenger of the muses) wanted to assure you that it's "totally worth every last word." I think it's obvious why I couldn't write this story without them.**

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><p><em>"I have the skill, yeah I have the will<br>To breathe you in while I can"_

_- Sick Puppies_

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><p><em>Chapter 3<em>

"Are you sure Buffy won't mind coming home and finding a tree in her yard?" Angel asked, scooping another shovelful of earth out of the hole that Willow had directed him to dig near one of the back corners of the yard. The yard was surrounded by hardwood privacy fence that would help provide shade until the little tree reached maturity. He could almost see the restful area that Willow was planning it to be.

"Positive." Willow told him, beaming, "This is the perfect tree in the perfect spot. It's going to be little Buffy-sized oasis."

Angel hoped she was right. After they got back to the house, Willow had made him carry the little tree to various spots around the yard while she found the right spot. True to form, the little witch hadn't paid much attention to the appearance of each spot, she seemed to be in some sort of deeper communion with the tree and the earth that seemed to go on forever. Finally, she pointed at the exact spot she wanted him to dig. He didn't mind the digging, although his human body seemed to tire more quickly, but he really didn't want it to be something that got him into hot water with the woman he loved.

Shovelful after shovelful, he dug, and as he turned the earth each time, he began to get a little more excited about the project. The tree would grow, and Buffy would think of him every time she sat beneath it. That had to be a good thing, right?

Finally, Willow announced that the hole was deep enough. Angel sat down and leaned back against the fence, muscles quivering a little from the exertion. He closed his eyes, and let the heat of the sun ease away the little aches. It was still a miracle to him, being able to sit here in the sun, like any regular person.

A shadow fell over him, and when he opened his eyes, Willow offered him a glass of tea and a bottle of sunscreen. He took the glass from her, and felt the cold drops of condensation beading against his hand. The glass was sweating as hard as he was, and he wiped it across his forehead before he began to drink in great gulps, savoring its coolness.

"I should have made you put the sunscreen on before we left," Willow told him apologetically as he took the tube from her and squirted some of it into his hands. "You're probably already a little bit burny. Two hundred years of avoiding the sunlight doesn't leave you with much of a resistance. I wonder if you'll ever not be super-pale."

Angel shrugged as he began to rub the lotion onto his exposed arms. "I don't know. I was fairly dark-complexioned for an Irishman when I was alive."

"It's so weird to think of you as anything but a vampire," Willow mused, sitting next to him and taking a sip of her own tea, "but there's a lot more to you, I guess. I mean, you're Irish. I knew you were from Ireland, but I never thought of you as actually being Irish."

"Being a vampire does tend to strip away your human affiliations," Angel agreed with her, taking another drink of his tea, "the hunting, the fighting, the killing… It means more to you than where you're from, or what god you believed in, or who your family was."

"Who were you? I mean, was Angel always your name?"

Angel shook his head, "No, I took the name Angelus after Darla sired me. When I was alive, I was called Liam. My family's name was O'Connor."

Willow pondered that information for a moment. "Was Liam short for William?"

He smiled. "The name in the family Bible was William, but nobody called me by anything but Liam." Willow wondered if he realized the faint brogue he'd taken on when he talked about his past.

"Angel?" Willow waited for his raised eyebrows before she continued, "You changed your name when you became a vampire, then again when you got your soul back, right?" He nodded, puzzled as to where she was going with her question. "So, pretty much at all the big turning points in your life."

"I wasn't Liam anymore after I was turned, and after I got my soul, I needed to distance myself from Angelus as far as possible. Treating Angelus like a different entity was the only way I could cope with the guilt," he explained, not sure why he was opening up to the witch.

"What about now?" This was the question she'd been working toward. "Do you still want to be Angel?"

Angel was quiet for a few minutes, stunned at Willow's insight. It was an idea he'd grappled with over the past few days; now that he was human again, should he have the name bestowed upon him by his flesh-and-blood family? "I think," he told her slowly, "that it would be fitting to die with the name I was born with. But, I've been Angel for a long time. When I became the man I wanted to be, his name was Angel. Buffy fell in love Angel. I don't think I can give that up, even if the idea of being called Liam stirs up my old, sentimental, Irish heart."

Willow nodded in understanding. "You could always do both," she pointed out to him.

"And how would I do that?"

"Well, you're human now, and we tend to have more than just the one name. When you get your legal documents, you could be William Angel O'Connor. Then, you're still Angel, but you get to be Liam, too."

Angel pondered the idea; he hadn't put in the call to LA for the documents she referred to, and just the idea of it gave him a feeling of peace. He smiled at the witch. "Thanks, Willow."

"No problem. Now, what do you say we get this baby tree in the ground and make it a not baby tree?"

* * *

><p>The closer they got to the beach, the more bringing Spike seemed like a good idea. With him, the beach would be fun. With Angel, it would have been too… intense. Their first outing together would have to be someplace heavily populated and benign, or there would be all kinds of feelings running willy-nilly.<p>

Buffy wasn't ready for feelings.

When they parked the car, Spike sat staring out the windshield at the panorama before him. "I used to come to the beach a lot, usually after a bender. Especially after Dru left me. But, at night, it's different. Even with _my_ eyes, I couldn't tell sea from sky, and the waves were always so far away that they echoed."

"This is your world now, Spike," she told him.

"Yeah, I guess so." He was quiet a moment more, then he turned to her and smiled. "We're here. Now what do we do?"

Buffy smiled at him. "You get the chairs; I'll get everything else. We'll find a spot and go from there."

Choosing a spot, Buffy decided, was more difficult than usual. She needed to be far enough away from others that she and Spike could talk openly, but she sensed that he needed to be near other people. Eventually, she chose a spot near the water, close to some playing children that Buffy knew wouldn't be interested in their conversation, and an older couple with a little radio.

"How do I do this again?" Spike asked, looking dubiously at the bottle in his hand.

"Just squirt it into your hand and rub it in."

"It smells funny."

"Not as funny as you'll look if you don't put it on."

"Fine," he grumbled, slathering the white lotion onto his skin. Rather than rub it in, he left a thick coat of white, assuming that was the way it worked as a barrier.

Buffy couldn't help but giggle, watching him.

"You have to rub it _in_. Like this," she instructed as she began to demonstrate on his arm.

Spike closed his eyes and sighed in bliss. There was no hint on his face that he was thinking his usual dirty thoughts, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy being touched.

Buffy thought back to their relationship, and realized that she'd never just touched him. She'd hit him more times than she could count, and they'd done everything sexual either of them could think of, but she'd never been affectionate for the sake of making him happy.

When she finished with his left arm, Buffy knelt in the sand in front of him, coating his legs, then his right arm. She worked quickly, but gently, her hands sliding easily across his chest and his neck.

"If you'll lie on your stomach, I can do your back."

Without opening his eyes, Spike obliged. He rested his head on his forearms, and sighed deeply as her fingers kneaded the flesh of his back. She took her time, enjoying the expression of happiness on his face.

_Why_, she wondered, _was it so impossible for me to do this then? Why couldn't I admit how much I cared before it was too late?_

When she stopped, Spike opened his eyes. "Want me to do you next? I think I've gotten the hang of it."

"I could use some help with my back. Just relax; it'll take me a minute to get there."

Spike rolled onto his side and watched her with his head propped on his hand. "I was wrong, you know," he said cryptically. It was a typical Spike conversation starter.

"You usually are," she replied. It was a typical Buffy comeback. "But, what _specifically_ are you wrong about now?"

"All the times I told you that you were a part of the darkness. You belong here, in the sun. You glow."

"No. You were right. Well, kind of. The perky blond in me loves being in the sun, but the Slayer part of me _does_ belong to the night. I didn't want it to be true, but it is."

She tossed the bottle of sunscreen to him and lay down on her stomach. A rustle on the blanket told her he was moving toward her, but she jumped when she felt the hands at her back pulling on the strings of her bikini top.

"Spike-"

"Relax, Slayer. This is how you're supposed to do it, isn't it? I saw it in an old movie. I'll tie it back when I've finished."

Buffy was relieved that while Spike's hands moved slowly across her back, they didn't seem to be doing anything except spreading the sunscreen. After a few minutes, she relaxed under his hands.

"It's probably all rubbed in now," she told him, though she didn't make any attempt to move.

"Yeah, but you did me," he said in a lazy voice, "Turnabout's fair play."

"Yeah, but I didn't do it so you'd give me a massage next. I just wanted to do something nice."

"And I appreciate that. Which is why I felt like returning the favor."

A few minutes later, Spike retied Buffy's suit and lay down beside her. The two lay side by side, watching the children build what they claimed was the biggest sand castle in the world. The sounds of "Charlie Brown" by The Coasters drifted over from the older couple's radio.

"I liked the 50's."

"Let me guess… You were a total greaser."

"Oh, hell, yes. Pompadour, leather jacket, cigarettes rolled into my sleeve. I was a real piece of work. Not like one of those nancy-boys in that stupid musical with John Travolta."

"Was your hair dark then?"

"Yeah. I didn't start with the bleach until the late 70's. _That_ was another good time."

"What did you like about the 50's?" she asked him, enthralled. Spike never talked about his past, except to shock her with some particularly vile story or another.

"Well, rock 'n' roll, for one thing. Changed the world, that did. And there was a sort of manic post-war thing happening. Almost like people were trying to cram as much living in as short a time as possible, in case there was another war and they all died. Plus, there was the violence."

"I was all excited about this conversation until right now. Does everything come back to bloodshed with you?"

"Up until a couple of years ago, it was kind of the focal point of my being. Blood and Drusilla."

"Ick… Tell me about the sixties."

"They were bloody terrible. All that peace and free love garbage. Plus, biting people was a dangerous business in the sixties."

"Did they flower-power vampires to death?" Buffy asked sarcastically.

Spike snorted. "Everybody was bleeding stoned all the time. You never knew when you were going to bite some bloke out by the dumpster and spend the rest of the night thinking you were a cat. I swear that god-awful musical is about a trip I had after I bit a dirty hippie in North London.

"The early seventies were worse. I begged Dru to stake me the first time I heard 'Rhinestone Cowboy'. Sadistic wench turned the volume up."

"Why not just get up and leave?" Buffy asked, amused at Spike's theatrics.

"I was tied to the sodding bed," he growled.

Buffy burst into laughter. She could almost see the whole thing, and as long as her brain scoured the disturbing parts and put clothes on everybody, it was a pretty funny image.

"So, this is it? This is what you do at the beach?" He asked her when she'd stopped laughing.

"This is part of it. We could play Frisbee or swim, then have lunch. When it starts to get dark, there's a guy up the beach who sells firewood. We can build a fire, get all caveman, if you want."

"I'm all for the fire, but swimming…"

"You don't know how to swim, do you?" Buffy realized.

"I did – a hundred some-odd years ago – but vampires tend to sink, so we avoid the water whenever we can. It's that whole lack of oxygen thing,"

"But," Buffy reminded him, pulling him to his feet, "you aren't a vampire, and you're chalk full of oxygen-y goodness."

She untied her sarong, and left her sandals on the blanket, pulling Spike with her as she went.

"We don't have to swim. We could dance or do that Frisbee thing, instead." Spike resisted as Buffy pulled him to the surf. "Oh, bloody hell."

The waves were warm as they lapped at their feet, ankles, and then their thighs. When the water was above his waist, Spike stopped. "I don't know how to float."

Buffy put her arms around his neck and jumped so that he held her in his arms. "Now walk into the water. I'm not going to do anything except be here."

"Not that I mind, love, but what are you trying to prove?"

"Just keep walking."

Spike obliged, trying not to think about how good it felt to hold Buffy again. The deeper into the surf he went, the less his arms supported her, until her arms around his neck were the only thing that anchored them together.

"Now, drop your arms," she instructed, letting go of his neck.

When he did, she stayed more or less in place, bobbing on the waves.

"See? You don't actually have to do anything to float; it just happens."

"Interesting demonstration. Where'd you get the idea?"

Buffy looked away from Spike, to the shoreline that curved as far as she could see. Memories of her childhood flooded into her mind, and she smiled sadly as she remembered days spent in the sand with her mother. "My mom. She held me like that and walked me out into the water. It was how she taught me to swim."

"My Mum taught me to dance. It was one of her favorite things to do."

Buffy circled around behind Spike. "Lay back," she instructed him, supporting his head and chest with her arms when he obliged.

"If I die, it's on you," he warned her as his feet lifted off the ocean's floor with a gulp. There was a long moment of firmly ingrained terror at being in the water.

"You aren't going to die. Stop with the whining," Buffy told him, but her voice was comforting. Spike tried concentrating on the feeling of her arms cradling him. He was used to those arms swinging hard fists at him, and he knew the feeling of having them wrapped around him in the throes of passion, but the sensation of being made safe by them was new.

Those arms were letting him drift further away from her, but he knew they were still close, if he needed them. As they receded, her hand slid down his arm and took his hand to reassure him of her proximity. When she was satisfied he was ok, she let the waves carry her, too. The water cradled them, sometimes pushing them closer together, sometimes pulling them as far as their joined hands would allow.

The feeling was indescribable. _Please, let Heaven be like this_, Spike asked The Powers, _and let me actually make it there someday_. The feeling of weightlessness and the warm water were a balm against a body that had lived far too long and done far too many dark deeds. His soul filled his body with warmth, and the sun that beat down against his closed eyes warmed his skin. The only thing he knew besides peace was that Buffy was with him. He could feel her there with him. He felt far more of her than the hand that clasped his so sweetly. He could feel the fire of her strength and her courage, the shadows of her doubts and fears, and the core of her that was compassionate and protective of those she loved.

_I'm a lucky bloke to have this_, Spike thought, _even if it's borrowed and only for a minute at that._

When the waves pushed them back toward the shore, Spike felt his feet scrape bottom, "I think we've run aground," he told her as he let his weight fall back to his feet.

"Aye, Captain Obvious."

"Why you little brat," Spike laughed at her, splashing water at her impudence. She returned fire, starting an all out splash war. She shrieked with laughter as Spike abandoned the idea of out-splashing her, and instead rushed her. He managed to wrap his arms around her, neutralizing her ability to fling water at him.

"Hey, Spike?" She asked him with a mischievous glint in her eye that made him reconsider the wisdom of his tactics.

"Yeah, ducks?"

"Hold your breath." His eyes widened, but he had just enough time to obey before her leg hooked around his, pulling his feet out from under him and Spike found himself dunked unceremoniously under the water. When he found his footing, he came up sputtering, and his eyes promised revenge.

"You don't want to do this." Buffy backed away, trying to talk her way out of the retaliation she knew was coming. "It was all in good fun."

"Of course, pet." Spike's voice was dangerously silky as he stalked toward her like a hunting cat. Buffy had nearly forgotten the raw sex appeal of the one-time Big Bad, but it was pouring out of him now.

That moment of distraction was all it took for Spike to close distance between them. His arms snaked firmly around her, trapping her to him. Buffy swallowed at the taunting smile playing on his lips as his head lowered to hers.

"Hold your breath, Slayer," he growled into her ear, before flinging her over his shoulder into a coming wave. Buffy squealed as she somersaulted through the air, and when she didn't immediately resurface, Spike called for her. Then, he felt strong hands wrap around ankles, and there was just enough time for him to say "Oh, no" before he was under water again.

They splashed and dunked one another like two kids, except their methods of taking one another down would have been more at home in a cage-fight than a pool-party. In all the time she'd known him, Buffy had never seen Spike _really_ smile, and she decided she liked the way it took away some of the sharp edges and made him seem less… dangerous. Spike's bad-boy persona was the root of what had attracted her to him, but Buffy thought she could come to like this smiling, laughing version, too.

When Spike lunged toward Buffy with an arm outstretched, trying to push her under the waves, she grabbed his hand and sidestepped, sending him face-first into the water. "Hey, you're all pruney," she pointed out when he surfaced, "You wanna stop for lunch?"

Spike looked down at his hand. "So I am. Lunch sounds good. I'm bloody starved. I can't get used to this _needing_ to eat thing. It just never ends, does it?"

"Not if you're lucky." She smiled sadly. "I wasn't hungry when I was dead."

"Me either."

"Well, that's only a perk when there aren't sandwiches waiting on the shore."

* * *

><p>Angel was glad the hard part was over. The lime tree was planted, and supported by three lines of twine hammered into the ground with wooden stakes. Now, he sat cross-legged with Willow, one hand wrapped around the slender trunk, the other joined to the witch. She was murmuring softly under her breath in a language he didn't recognize and channeling his strength into the tree, helping it grow.<p>

The tree, in return, was channeling its own strength back to him through Willow. The energy it gave him was pure and refreshing, like a cool breeze. It renewed the muscles that were fatigued from the planting and soothed his mind.

From the porch, Dawn watched, amazed by the ritual. She couldn't exactly see the tree growing, but every time she looked, it seemed significantly larger. And Angel… She couldn't ever remember seeing him so relaxed and happy. The nagging remembrance that she'd never actually seen him at all until a few days ago pushed at her mind.

She tried to let it go, but the one part of her unusual beginning that she always had problems accepting was the false memories of people, especially when she met them for the first time. The monks had known what they were doing, though. She'd yet to meet somebody in the flesh and have a relationship with them that was at all different from the one that had been given to her. She kept waiting for that; for a surge of desire where she didn't remember one, or for somebody she remembered liking to really get on her nerves.

After a few more minutes of watching the tree grow; she couldn't wait to tell Xander what she did today; Dawn went inside and began to prepare lunch for the three of them. It wouldn't be anything too fancy, mostly because she was a terrible cook at best, but she made a mean tossed salad.

While she got the ingredients ready, she toyed with the idea of inviting Xander over for lunch. He'd be grumpy at eating rabbit food, but probably happy enough to see her, and she could always make him a sandwich instead, if he wanted. Before she could think too much about it, she grabbed the phone, and punched in his number.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked when he answered. She slid down against the door frame, and wound her hair around her finger while she talked.

"Dawnie!" he seemed happy enough to hear from her. "Keeping busy?"

"Yeah, I just spent the _best_ half hour watching a tree grow."

"You just reached a whole new level in the land of You Need to Get Out More."

Dawn giggled. "No, really, Willow and Angel planted this tree, and they're doing some sort of funky with it, and it's bigger every time I look at it."

"That's what she said," Xander quipped before he remembered that he was on the phone with Dawn.

"That joke just never gets old, does it?" she asked him sarcastically.

"The good ones never do."

Dawn took a deep breath and screwed up her courage. "So, you got plans for lunch?"

"Not really. I was just gonna grab a bite somewhere."

"I'm making lunch if you wanna stop by."

"Should I be afraid?"

"Not unless you have an aversion to several varieties of baby green, leafy vegetables and bacon bits."

"Rabbit food, huh?"

"We have pastrami, rye, and provolone," she tempted him.

"Be still my heart. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Xander told her with a smile that she couldn't see.

Dawn covered the phone's receiver and made a tiny squeal of delight. Hey, she was still a teenager for a few months, and teens were allowed to get too excited about things like that. "Ok," she said coolly, "I might be out back, so just come on in when you get here." She hung up the phone, and flitted happily around the kitchen, putting the salad into a festive bowl, then making Xander's sandwich carefully and covering it with plastic wrap until he got here.

When she went back outside, she gasped at the size of the tree. It was already big enough around that even Angel's long fingers only wrapped about halfway around the trunk. "Oh, my god, that thing is huge!" she told Willow as she stepped off the porch to the two people that were picking themselves off the ground. Mentally, she quipped 'that's what she said' as a homage to Xander.

"I think it'll be fully grown in a few weeks," Willow told her proudly, "Then, we can put some lawn furniture there, and sit out under the tree in the evenings, if we want."

"Oh, hey," Dawn said offhandedly, as if she'd just thought of something, "Xander's dropping by for lunch in a few minutes. I made a big salad, but thought I'd check and see if either of you wanted a sandwich to go with it."

"I'm good with the greens," Willow told her, "but Xander'll get itchy if there's not more meat involved."

"I'm already on it. He gets pastrami on rye. Angel," she turned her attention to the quiet man, "how about you?"  
>"Salad's find with me, but I think I need to get cleaned up before I do anything else." A cool shower to sluice off the morning's sweat sounded like heaven. Everything else was just details.<p>

"Hurry up, then," Dawn told him. "Xander'll be here in about ten minutes."

* * *

><p>Spike and Buffy waded ashore, and collapsed onto their blanket. Spike grabbed a soda and popped it open with a loud and satisfying <em>spsh.<em>

"I don't know that I've ever been this thirsty. Well, at least not in a fangy sort of way."

"It's the salt from the ocean. It dehydrates you." Buffy tore open a sack of chips, grabbed a handful, and passed the bag over.

"There's a lot to learn about this human bit. Before I was a vampire, people knew a lot less about it, and I've forgotten most of that. The last time I cared about _any_ of it was when they started keeping blood in bags for us."

"For _transfusions_. The bagged blood is supposed to keep people from getting all dead."

"Is that what they use it for? It was all lunch to me." Buffy threw a grape at him, and Spike popped it into his mouth with a smile.

"So, it doesn't bother you?"

"Doesn't what bother me?"

"You know, the vampire years."

Spike looked out at the ocean and took a minute to gather his words. "I'm completely unapologetic for who I am, even when that was a vampire. Vampires drink blood, and I drank a lot. When I got my soul back, I was dead sorry for all the people I'd hurt, but I didn't regret letting Drusilla sire me. I like Spike a hell of a lot more than I did William the bloody awful poet. I won't regret being human with you, either, pet. Well, maybe when I'm old and feeble I'll be a little upset," he reconsidered.

"You became human for _me_?"

"More or less," he replied evasively.

"Why? "

"It's like we told you. We get to be close enough to you to know that you're safe. When you were in Sunnydale, Angel kept tabs on you from LA. I knew first-hand you were ok, and I knew when you weren't," he said pointedly. "This last year, not knowing... It was tough."

"I doubt I'm hard to pin-point, if you're looking."

"We weren't, at least not until we heard you might be in Rome. We didn't figure you'd want us to."

"Spike, how could you think I wouldn't want to know you were alive?"

"I thought," he stopped to swallow against the lump in his throat, "that it would be easier for you this way. That way you got to move on, have a life, without me buggering it all up."

"I _really_ wish the men in my life would stop making that decision for me."

"I reckon you do at that, love."

"What's the other reason?" she asked him.

"Not my place to say."

The nearby children had given up on building the world's largest sandcastle, and were contenting themselves with wrecking it, instead. They flung themselves at it with wild abandon, laughing gleefully as they rolled through walls and turrets.

"Looks like fun." Spike laughed. "Maybe we should try building one."

"You only want to build a sandcastle so you can tear it down, Spike."

"Sure, but we'd have a real good time doing it."

Buffy, bit her lower lip thoughtfully, as she watched the kids. "Not as much fun as a real house," she said softly. She chanced a look at Spike, and his eyes smoldered into hers.

"Not nearly as much fun," he agreed with her. Spike cleared his throat. _Do not pursue _that_ conversation, Spike,_ he told himself. _It will only end badly_. "So, what now?" he asked her instead.

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

_Jesus,_ Spike thought, _what kind of question is that? Are you trying to get me to slip up, or just drive me crazy?_

A new song started on the older couple's radio: Chantilly Lace. Spike jumped to his feet and held out his hand. "Dance with me."

"You dance?" Buffy raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"I told you, my mum taught me."

"Yeah, but I assumed it was something else you stopped doing in 1880."

"That would have been disrespectful."

"So, you really know how to dance to this music?" Spike quirked an eyebrow at her as she climbed to her feet. "Of course you do. You were there. Hey, if I go looking for old episodes of American Bandstand, will I find you?"

"No. They only taped during the day."

"What kind of dances do you know?" Buffy brushed the sand off herself.

"All of them." Buffy had the impression he probably wasn't exaggerating.

"Oh. So, what kind of dance are we going to do?"

"Well, if we were inside, I'd teach you the jitterbug, but since we're on the beach, it'll have to be the shag, won't it."

"I knew this was some sort of trick!" She turned in mock anger as if to storm off. Spike grabbed her wrist with a smile, and spun her back to him.

"Follow my lead, Slayer." Spike demonstrated the basic step. "One and two, three and four, five, six. Right. No, don't move your arms around like that; you're _supposed_ to be cool. And would you _stop_ smiling?"

Slayer reflexes lent themselves well to dancing, and Buffy picked up the steps easily as "Chantilly Lace" segued into "Blue Suede Shoes". The man with the radio surprised Buffy by tapping her on the shoulder and asking if he could cut in. Spike squeezed her fingers before handing her off to him and asking the lady for a dance.

"Your friend's a good dancer," her partner said with a nod at Spike. His upper body barely seemed to move, but his lower body seemed made of elastic as he led his partner, who was skilled, despite her age, through a series of complicated turns. Above his sculpted cheeks, his eyes burned with the same intensity they did when he fought. The song ended, and Spike's partner, whose cheeks were flushed after their dance, murmured something he leaned close to hear. To Buffy's surprise, he kissed the back of her hand gallantly before returning to her. Had it been anybody else, Buffy would have rolled her eyes at the gesture. Instead, she felt like she'd gotten a glimpse at the young man he'd been in the late 19th century.

"I love this song," Spike told her as they shagged to the intro of "Stand by Me," then he sang along while they danced.

_When the night has come and the land is dark_

_And the moon is the only light we see_

_No, I won't be afraid. Oh, I won't be afraid_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me_

_Oh darling, darling, stand by me_

"I thought we were too cool for stuff like singing when we do the shag."

"Well, obviously you make an exception for _really_ good songs."

"I think you're making the rules up as you go."

"Don't I always?"

"Usually, but I never pay any attention anyway," she teased him as he continued to sing.

At the end of the song, the lady pressed a few buttons on her radio, and a new song began to play. She and her husband began to sway gently to the music in a dance they'd been perfecting for decades. "Shall we, then?" Spike held out his hand again.

Buffy looked at it. "You can shag to this?" she asked him skeptically.

"I Can't Help Falling in Love With You? No, pet, this one's a slow one."

"I suppose I could do that." She stepped closer to him.

"Good, because you'd have broken that old lady's heart if you'd said no."

"Why? What did you say to her?" Buffy narrowed her eyes playfully.

"Nothing, I swear. We danced, and then she said she wanted to play a special song for me. I think she assumed we were on a date."

"Nah, she probably wants you to come break in. The looks you were giving her… I'm surprised you didn't give her a heart attack."

"I don't think it was as serious as all that."

"Please, she probably would have been in less danger of dying if she'd had that dance with you in a dark alley twenty years ago," Buffy scoffed, and then she tensed a little. She wasn't sure how Spike would react to her making a joke of his bloodier days, and she was a little shocked she'd been so cavalier it.

"Yeah, but that's only because they could have given her one of those transfusions with a vampire juice box."

"Watch it. Those juice boxes saved my life a couple times." The song ended, and the two sank onto the blanket.

"Yeah? You were a pint low?"

"More than a pint." Buffy wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them close to her chest. "Way more."

"How'd it happen?"

"Which time?" Spike answered with a tilt of his head. "The first time I was bitten, the second time was when Warren shot me."

"Anybody I know?" Spike's voice was mild but his body tensed. He wasn't sure which bothered him more; the idea of a bullet or somebody's teeth ripping into her flesh.

"Again with the 'which time?'"

"Christ, Slayer, how many vampires have you let get close enough to bite?"

"Four. Lucky for me, you still had a chip." Buffy's smile was wry. "The Master, when he killed me, then Dracula, right after he made with the mind control. The one who sent me to the hospital…" It was still a difficult time for Buffy to talk about, and she trailed off as her throat closed.

"Angelus?" Spike guessed. Her insistence that Angel and Angelus were two different beings frustrated him, but it was important to her, so he played along.

"Angel," she corrected him, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, she looked out at the ocean. Spike stared at her, but there were too many emotions running through him for any of them to show on his face. There was shock, because he'd been prepared to hear that _Angelus_ had bitten her while he was tormenting her. For _Angel_ to have tasted her, she must have been willing, and the thought of it made him sick. Then, there was the strange mix of anger, jealousy, hopelessness, and in the end, resignation. "It was right before graduation," she explained. "Faith poisoned him, and the only cure was a Slayer's blood. I tried to kill her. I stabbed her, but she fell onto a truck, and spent six months in a coma."

For _him_. Buffy had tried to commit murder for _him_. She would have traded a piece of her soul for his life, and he walked away from her. Spike could accept that Buffy had never truly loved him, that for some reason he couldn't fathom she'd loved the Great Ponce instead. What he couldn't handle was all the little ways she sacrificed herself for him. He _understood_ it- what of his old life hadn't he sacrificed for her- but loving Buffy pushed Spike to _do_ better, to _be_ better. She'd changed him from a monster to a man.

Buffy's love for Angel had eroded her principles, bit by bit, until he left Sunnydale, and then it had tormented her. Had Angel been within arm's reach, Spike would have taken great satisfaction in ripping him limb from limb.

It was a long time before Spike trusted himself to speak. When he did, he couldn't think of anything he wanted to say that wouldn't ruin the day they'd both enjoyed, so he stared at the receding tide and seethed.

"You don't look happy." Buffy's voice was quiet, and when Spike turned to look at her, she began to study the tide. "Actually, you don't look _unhappy_, either. Usually your feelings are all over your face, but right now it's a blank, which is probably all kinds of bad. Plus, your jaw is doing that clench-y thing."

"It's nothing for you to worry about." Spike voice was clipped.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Spike bit back a groan of frustration. "No, pet," he said tightly, "It's not that. It's just that the thought of you-"

"With Angel?" Buffy interrupted.

"Not where I was going with that. Resigned myself to that one by now, haven't I?"

"So what, then? The pretty blue water insult you?"

"You tried to kill Faith."

"You're a fan now?"

"Of course not. I told you a long time ago: say the word and I'll make it look like a painful accident."

"She had it coming."

"Oh, will you listen to yourself? I'd expect that kind of talk from Xander, but not from the Honorable Buffy bloody Summers."

"She poisoned Angel. I did what I had to do to save him."

"You stuck a knife into the body of a human being. You tried to commit murder on _his_ behalf. Can't say I've never done nastier things for love, but I was _already_ a monster."

Seconds, then minutes dragged past, and as his temper cooled, Spike wished he could undo their last conversation.

"You're right, you know," Buffy said to him softly. "I was crazed. Faith just kept killing people, and I didn't do anything to stop her. I mean, knew there was the possibility I'd have to kill her in the end, but I hoped there'd be another way. Then, she tried to steal Angel's soul, just to hurt me. We let her think she'd done it, to get information out of her. She'd have killed me, but that wasn't what made me hate her. It was seeing her all over him that did it. When Oz and Willow told me that a Slayer's blood was the cure for the poison, I was relieved I had an excuse. After the fight… After I stabbed her, I felt terrible, but when I did it…"

"Nothing more powerful than revenge, is there?" Spike asked shrewdly.

"Not right then there wasn't. Afterwards… I felt like I should be hurt, punished. I could have figured out a way to give Angel my blood more safely. Open a vein, pour a cupful, and tell him it was Faith's. Instead, I forced him. It took three punches to provoke him, and then…"

"Not quite the way they write it in the books, is it?"

"It was like being torn apart by an animal. I didn't resist at first, because I wanted to make sure he got enough, and then I was too weak to get him off me."

Spike looked at her sympathetically before she continued, "If I'd handled things differently, I think he might have stayed. He said he was leaving, but deep down I thought he'd change his mind. After that, I knew he'd go. If I'd done things differently, I could have saved us all kinds of trouble. I wouldn't have hurt you." The last was offered as an apology.

"Yeah, but I'd still be killing for sport. Things worked out nicely on my end. Angel's a poncey bugger for walking away when you wanted him here, but he was running out of things to brood about. And, blaming yourself for Peaches' over-blown sense of nobility is the same as taking credit for it."

"Are you mocking him or standing up for him?"

"Bit o' both, unfortunately. I'm just saying, that giving him credit when he does something right and taking responsibility when he doesn't is an irritating double-standard. And, stop trying to justify everything, would you?"

Buffy furrowed her brow. "What things? I don't justify."

"Oh, please… It's your MO. You didn't love me, so you had to justify the sex, instead of just enjoying it and seeing where things went. You decided it was a bad thing, so you had to come up with a bad reason to do it, otherwise, you'd have had to admit that you found me attractive and maybe a little addictive. You love Angel, but you did things while you were with him that don't sit well on your conscience, so you tell yourself whatever you can to sleep better with the person he made you."

"So, is this brutal honesty thing going to become a regular feature of having you around? 'Cause if it is, I'm going to need some thicker skin."

Spike scoffed. "When was I ever less than honest with you, Slayer? The only difference is you missed me enough to actually listen a little."

"You have a bad habit of being perceptive, as long as the problem doesn't actively involve you, you know."

"It's part of my charm, I guess. Some days." Buffy leaned over to rest her head on Spike shoulder. He savored the feeling of her hair under his cheek and the warmth of her body near his. "So, what's going on in that head o' yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you making with the feelings and not trying to dust me for talking about you and Captain Forehead. There's something else going on."

"I'm just glad you came back. Makes me willing to forgive you for saying mean things."

"If I'd known a little case of the death was all it took, I'd have tried it years ago."

"It only works once, so don't do it again," she told him. "You know, things were pretty regular here before you guys came back. Now, it's all complicated and confusing again, which is more normal than things actually being normal. The only thing I know right now is that I'm happy you're alive and that you're here."

"I didn't know if you'd want me back here after everything. It's part of the reason I stayed in LA, but hearing you say that... It's just about the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."

"What was the nicest?" Buffy asked him.

"'I love you.' You said it."

"I wasn't being nice: I meant it. Why can't you get that through you thick skull?"

_Because nothing I ever did was good enough to deserve you, even for a minute_, he thought sadly, but he didn't say anything.

A companionable silence fell between them as they watched the sun sink into the horizon. Gulls cried overhead, and the breeze began to take on the chill of night. "Are you always like this now?"

"You mean all rational with the conversation and tackling the ugly stuff head on?" Spike tilted his head in agreement. "Not hardly. I mean, I've changed over the last year, you know, grown into my big girl pants, but I haven't come _that_ far. I think it's more of a limited time offer. Probably a side effect of wishing you weren't gone all these months."

"Any idea how long this sort of thing might last?"

"Well, barring anything particularly obnoxious, I think it's safe to count on a week of snark-free Buffy."

"I'll be using that to my advantage, then"

Buffy laughed. "We should be getting back."

Spike swallowed hard before he stood. "Yeah, wouldn't want to keep the Magnificent Poufter on pins and needles, would we?"

"Just so you know, you're paddling in the obnoxious pool. But, you know he's probably going crazy wondering where we are."

"_Where_ isn't what's driving him crazy, I'd wager." Spike muttered under his breath as he collapsed the beach chairs.

"Spike," she grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. "I needed today to be with you. And, it's been a great day. Now, it's time to go back to the rest of the world, and that includes Angel. Put yourself in his shoes."

"Yeah. Who knows what might happen if the world didn't revolve around Peaches. He might up and walk away again."

"Yes, Spike. I'm the girl that everybody walks away from, usually in some misguided attempt to 'do the right thing'. For some reason, the people I love don't want to live in the same ZIP code. I don't need the reminder." Buffy's eyes blazed at him and a flush rose in her cheeks.

"It's not your fault you know a flock of idiots." Spike snarled at her as he began to throw their gear into the beach bag. "But, it is frustrating as hell to see you let them do it over and over."

"Everybody leaves eventually." Was he being deliberately obtuse? She drove people away, without even trying. She always had. "If I never let them back in, I'd always be alone."

"I've never walked away." Spike's voice was raw with emotion. He opened and closed his hands a few times. When she thought about the men in her life that'd left her, one after the other, why couldn't she ever give him the credit he deserved? "I never left you behind."

"No," she agreed. "You were taken from me. But you didn't come running back when you had the chance, either."

"And that is my worst decision in a long line of bad bloody calls. I should have found you as soon as I was able to leave LA. If I'd thought you wanted me here, there's no force on Earth that would have kept me away."

"I know, Spike." Buffy groaned in frustration. "Why is this so difficult? I mean, the pink elephant is big and pink and complicated, and maybe it's an imaginary big, pink, complicated elephant, but why can't this be easier?"

"You want to say that in English?" Spike asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not really, no."

"If I haven't used up my 'Buffy uses her words' credit, I'd like to cash some of it in now."

"Fine." She told him waspishly, "But, you can't make fun, or anything else."

"Wouldn't dream of it, pet."

"You're back. Angel is back. And you're not just back, you're human. You keep saying that you just want to _be here_ but you could have _been here_ as vampires. If fighting was really the first thing on your minds, you'd have wanted that harder-to-kill edge.

"So, the only reason I can think of for Angel to be human is because he wants to be with me. He was always hung up on not being able to give me a normal life, but as a human, he could. That was never an issue between us, and _you_ didn't have a cursed soul. So, the only reason I can think of for _you_ to have done it because you didn't want to be outdone.

"And, that's another thing we can't talk about. We're all pretending that we're going to live together like a big, happy family, but how long can we even prop up that illusion? Probably not even until the end of the day.

"Then again, maybe my ego started taking steroids when I wasn't looking. Maybe there was something I don't know about, and couldn't understand if I did, that prompted the big switch. I don't know. And, I can't ask without hurting somebody's feelings or making them mad or, god forbid, seeming to make a decision I am nowhere near contemplating."

Spike studied her with soft eyes. "You're not wrong that there was more than _just_ keeping you safe that played into the decision, but that's Angel's story, not mine.

"I would have come back anyway," he continued. "My resolve was nearly gone. I just don't have the nobility to stay away from the one thing in the world that matters to me."

"Why human?"

"I thought it would make you happy."

"What about you? Did you want it?"

Spike shrugged. "Human or vampire: it didn't matter much to me. I don't figure to be a part of this world once you've gone out of it." Spike flinched at the idea, but he couldn't pretend that she wasn't going to die again someday, probably forever. "So, immortality's lost its appeal. The human shell seemed like something that would fit into your life better than a vampire."

"I don't know what to do with that, Spike. I don't know what to do with any of it."

"Take your time figuring it out, love. I'm not going anywhere until you send me away, and even then, I'll only be out of sight. Just promise me you'll make your decision based on _your_ feelings. Don't let either of us bugger it up for you."

* * *

><p>Angel was glad they'd left him alone after lunch. The thing with the tree hadn't been a bad way to spend the morning, but it had happened purely by accident. He could deal with Spike and Buffy alone somewhere. All day long. Doing and saying who-knows-what. He couldn't deal with whatever mindless tedium Willow might have come up with to waste his time.<p>

Angel had read during the hot part of the day, and as the afternoon wore into evening, he found himself out back doing forms. He was still learning to inhabit this human body, and it reacted differently than his vampiric form had. This body was less reliable; sometimes he unwittingly used more strength than he meant to, and sometimes not as much as he thought he was. The difference was maddening, and he hadn't yet taken adrenaline into consideration. It had been two hundred fifty years since he'd fought with adrenaline spiking his system, and he had no idea what to expect.

He warmed up gently with some yoga poses, then moved into a kung-fu form. The techniques in the form were impractical for fighting, but they were good for training. After a half hour of the more violent forms, he moved into Tai Chi, letting the forms sharpen his focus as he completed them.

When he was done, Willow was watching him from the porch steps. The air had cooled off considerably, and she wore a shawl over her arms. She didn't speak as he sat down next to her, but her eyes looked sad.

"Buffy wanted you to keep me busy today." It wasn't a question, he was only looking for confirmation of what he already knew.

"Yeah."

"Have I lost her already?" his voice was soft. He was so afraid of the answer that the question almost wouldn't come.

"Angel, no." Willow was quick to reassure him, "She just needed some time with Spike."

Angel nodded. "I expected it, but that doesn't really make it easier."

"I know the past few days have been pretty tense for all of you, but you just gotta have faith that things'll work themselves out."

"Maybe for one of us. Definitely not both. That's the worst part of the whole thing: knowing that somebody's going to get hurt. I don't want it to be me, and I don't wish that on Spike, either. And, no matter what she chooses, it's going to hurt Buffy to make a decision. If I'd thought all this through, I don't know that I would have been in such a hurry to darken her door."

"Angel, don't say that. Yeah, it's going to be tough, but at least nobody will have to live with the 'what-ifs'. And, I'll tell you something else, Buffy needs you guys. Maybe more than ever. She's bored now, and she's lost her focus, and every time she sneaks out of that damn window, we're afraid we'll never see her again."

"You knew about that?" he asked her, surprised. Both he and Spike had assumed that if the Scoobies had known, they would have said something to her. They'd never shown any hesitation to make their opinions about any of her other actions known. He wondered what else had changed while he was in LA.

Willow snorted, "Duh. We've taken a few precautions to try and keep her safe, but it's like she's continually trying to prove that she's still _The_ Slayer, and all the other girls are just playing dress-up. She takes too many chances, but one of these days…" she shook her head. "Maybe the two of you can talk some sense into her."

Angel laughed- gallows humor- and shook his head, "I wouldn't count on it," he told her, "but we _will_ do what we can to make sure she's not out there alone."

"That's better than what we've got now." Willow said with a crooked smile.

Angel pulled himself to his feet, "I can't just sit around and wait for them to come home. Besides, I shouldn't be here when they get back."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to take a walk. I should get to know the neighborhood, since I might be here for a while." Angel closed the screen door softly behind him as he walked into the house for a jacket. After a moment's hesitation, he picked up a stake and put it into his pocket. He hadn't fought with a stake in a while, but an axe would probably be a little out of place in a quiet neighborhood like this one.

* * *

><p>Buffy pulled a hoodie and some yoga pants over her bathing suit while Spike gathered their belongings and carried to them to the car. Once everything was loaded, she bypassed the door he held open for her and made herself comfortable on the car's hood. He closed the door gently before joining her. The softness of twilight was fading to night, and a brilliant spray of stars were just becoming visible.<p>

"I know we should go back. I just…" Buffy looked at Spike, lying close to her, but not touching, "I just wanted a few more minutes. I don't want to think about Angel or about anything else. You're back, and I just want a few more minutes."

"Buffy," Spike's voice was uncertain, "When you first saw us…" He trailed off.

"Just ask, Spike."

"Who were you happier to see?" His voice was hoarse and searching.

Buffy had made rules for herself about these outings with Spike and Angel. One of them was that she wasn't going to pretend their pasts had never happened. She'd also decided that while being affectionate was ok, she wasn't going to do anything romantic until she'd figured things out. When she looked at Spike and saw the need in his eyes, and knew that it was mirrored in her own, she knew that second one was a mistake.

Maybe not generally speaking. In fact, she planned on re-instituting it in the morning, but right now, she wasn't a woman torn between two men she loved. She was a woman who was reunited with the lover she'd mourned for a year. Against all the odds in the world, he'd come back. This was a once in a lifetime moment, and it should be one of healing and happiness. Tonight there shouldn't be any rules.

She moved close to him, so that they were nose-to-nose. "When I came back, and you saw me coming down the stairs…" She saw the recognition in his eyes. "That's exactly how I felt when I saw you standing in my yard. There aren't words. It was a miracle. I've never done anything to deserve that moment." She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, then on each of his salty cheeks, and finally on his lips. His arms twined around her, pulling her to him.

"God, Buffy, I've missed you," he told her thickly, cupping her jaw in his hand. He knew that what was happening between them now had no bearing on what would happen when Angel was reintroduced into the picture, but tonight the Slayer was his, and the tears on her cheeks were for him.

It was more than he'd expected.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew! That one was a marathon, not a sprint. Congratulations for making it through! Several of the chapters are fairly long from this point forward, but so far, none of them equal this one in length. Chapter 4 marks a turning point in this fic; from this point forward, I stopped being in control of the story. I'm along for the ride as much as you are, except I have to edit and worry about which word to use where. Thanks for sticking with me so far; please leave a review to tell me what you think.<strong>


	5. Scars are Souvenirs

**Special thanks for my beta reader, The Imperfectionist. If you're into the Glee fandom, I cannot reccomend her awesome new series The Almost Life highly enough. She truly is a Jedi Master with the words.**

**Also, I need to thank AllyPetals for the long, long hours of hearing my harebrained and crazy twisted plot outlines for this series. I'm going to use this space to urge her to get more of her very cool Buffy fic done, so I can plug it here, too.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Scars are souvenirs you never lose…"<em>

_-Goo Goo Dolls_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 4<br>_

Buffy and Spike held hands as they he drove back to her house. The mood between them was light, but, as they approached home, reality began to creep up on them. There was a moment, on the beach, where it had been just the two of them, but it was passing quickly.

"Well, I suppose this is goodnight, then," Spike said as he pulled the car over at the end of Buffy's block.

"Willow said she was going to put Angel to work doing some stuff around the house, but I doubt they remodeled while we were at the beach," Buffy said, looking at the unfamiliar house they were in front of.

Spike answered her with a sardonic look before threading his fingers in her hair.

"Oh." It was a more thoughtful gesture than she would have expected. Spike usually took any chance possible to bait Angel. Maybe it was some part of a scheme to win her. He could be trying to nice her into submission, right?

She let herself be pulled in for a deep kiss, and when they were both breathless, Spike looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you, Buffy."

"I love you, too, Spike." It was true, and not the kind of truth that had qualifiers. She loved Spike. She also loved Angel. Now, she just had to figure out who she wanted to build a life with. No more cookie dough. She was all the woman she was ever going to be, and as much as she'd never wanted to make this decision, it was better that she make it than settle with whichever of them Providence felt like throwing at her.

Spike's eyes glowed with something that Buffy couldn't quite identify, and she couldn't help but smile and press another, softer, kiss against his lips. "Goodnight, Spike. I had a-" Buffy stopped with a look of horror across her face.

"What's the matter, love?" Spike turned to see what she was staring at, and his smile faded as he came face to face with a furious Angel. "Bollocks."

Angel turned to storm off, and Buffy bounded out of the car after him without a backward glance. "Angel!" She called, but he ignored her. "Angel," she tried again, catching up to him finally. He spun around to face her, and the look of fury on his face was more terrible than his vampiric visage ever had been.

"Angel, it's not what you think."

"Really? Because I think you put Willow up to getting me out of the way so you and Spike could go spend some quality time. That sound about right?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"You know," Angel's voice was tight and controlled, "I don't mind that you spent the day with Spike. I expected you to need time to resolve whatever was between you before we could all get on with our lives."

"There was. There is. Angel-"

"You told him you loved him. I heard you."

"I do love him." God, this wasn't how she wanted to have this conversation. She would have preferred it at never o'clock on the second Tuesday of next week.

"I thought you loved _me, _Buffy."

"I do love you, Angel."

"But, you don't love me more," he guessed shrewdly.

Buffy hesitated. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Buffy, think about what you're saying. That's _Spike_ you're talking about. He tried to kill you. He tried to kill Willow and your mother for god's sake."

"So did you."

"Angelus-"

"I know all about the curse. I was there, remember? God, listen to yourself. You act so righteous about Spike, but how are the two of you really different?

"I spent the day with a man who gave his life for _me_. He died to finish _my_ fight. I love him, Angel, and I've spent the last year hurting because he was gone. Every night, I wished for the chance to have done things differently. I wished I'd worn the amulet myself, or that I'd tried to convince him that I really loved him. I should have begged him to take the damned thing off before it was too late, but I _let_ him die."

"You did the right thing."

"I'm tired of the right thing, Angel. I'm tired of trading the people I love for the safety of everybody on this piece of rock. I'm tired of being left behind. God, Angel, just I'm so tired." Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, almost as if she relied on her physical strength to keep herself from falling apart.

"We're all tired, Buffy. Do you think the past few years have been easy for any of us? We've all fought, and we've all lost something_." Has she forgotten what it cost me to leave? She used to know that it was as hard for me to stay away as it was for her to let me, _Angel wondered, his brow furrowing ever more deeply.

"I feel like I lost everything." It was barely a whisper, and despite his anger, Angel felt the old impulse to wrap his arms around her.

"Sounds familiar." Angel's voice was bitter as he contemplated the losses she'd never know about.

"Can we just figure this out in the morning? My brain can't take anything else right now." She noticed the tightening of his jaw and the hard swallow before he agreed with her, and knew there was something, probably a lot of things, she didn't know.

"Yeah. That's probably a good idea." Angel knew he was too angry to do anything but more damage. "Just go home. I'm going to do a quick sweep before I head back."

He turned without another word and strode away while Buffy watched him leave.

* * *

><p>Spike poured himself a glass of bourbon, tossed it back in one swallow, and slammed the glass onto the counter. Fury tore through his body like an electrical current as he paced the length of the kitchen raking a hand through his hair.<p>

_Stupid bloody git_, Spike snarled internally, _I should have killed him every chance I got. God, the look on the Slayer's face when she saw him… _He'd thought it was a particularly gruesome demon, and he'd been ready to defend her with his last human breath. Instead, it was Angel, the one demon he _wasn't_ allowed to pummel.

Spike poured another glass of bourbon down his throat, and then in a fit of violence, he hurled it against the wall with a bellow, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Is it time for another apocalypse already?" Dawn asked strolling into the kitchen, with a bemused glance at the pile of broken glass.

"Go away, Bit," Spike ground out, bending to pick up the pieces.

"Bad day out with Buffy?" she asked him instead, pouring a glass of water for herself.

"No, it was a great day out with the Slayer."

"So why with the glasses throwing? You training for the Olympic team?" she persisted.

"Because Angel caught up with us at a very bad moment." Spike's fist clenched around the glass shards he still held. "Bollocks," he muttered when blood began to flow from a deep cut in his palm. He was royally pissed off, and the combination of anger and blood should have had his forehead worked up, but of course, that wouldn't happen anymore. It was disorienting, and the sensation broke his anger a bit.

"Ick," Dawn said when she saw the blood. "Come run cold water on that while I go get the first aid kit."

Spike was mesmerized by the river of red washed away by the cold water. After a hundred twenty years of being a slave to blood, not having any reaction to it was surreal, and in a way it was more concrete proof of his newfound humanity than spending the day in the sun had been.

"You know, you're going to have to learn to be more careful," Dawn advised him, taking his hand and dabbing his wound with antiseptic. "Human bodies are more delicate than your old one." She inspected it closely, probing for any bits of glass that might be in it. "This cut is pretty deep. It might need stitches."

"It'll be fine."

"Yeah, eventually it will. The question is: do you want this to heal in a few weeks or in a few months?" She placed a pad of cotton across his palm, and then began wrapping gauze around his hand to hold it in place. "This is a tough spot to get to heal."

"No hospitals, Platelet."

"We can call Maura. She's one of our medics."

"Not too keen on the idea."

"Well, if you don't mind a scar, I could do it," Dawn offered shyly. "I've always wanted to, but nobody's willing to be my first patient."

"Since when are you part of the Nurse Betty Brigade?"

"Well, I've been learning. I mean, I can handle myself in a fight, but with all the new Slayers, I'm more useful taking care of the wounded. Theoretically. We haven't had a real battle since you closed the Hellmouth." Dawn looked at him with wide eyes. "Oh, god, Spike, I didn't mean to bring up..." she trailed away lamely.

"The most brilliant victory ever conceived and carried out by a Slayer?" he supplied.

"Your death."

He shrugged. "Didn't take. Go get your sewing basket if you think you can do it properly."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Dawn squealed in delight as she ran out of the room.

Spike grabbed the bottle of bourbon and sat down, a line from a song going through his head:"_Scars are souvenirs you never lose." _

_At least I'll have a souvenir of today,_ he thought taking a long pull off the bottle.

* * *

><p>Every step he took, Angel's anger faded a little more, and every bit of anger that evaporated was replaced with guilt. He knew he'd just screwed things up, but then, he'd never been particularly level-headed where Buffy was concerned.<p>

Smelling Spike on her last year just about made him crazy, and then she chose _him_ as her Champion. He never bought the line about a second front. At the time, he'd hoped she just wanted to know he was safe so she could focus on the battle. Then he worried that she trusted Spike to watch her back instead. Now, he had to wonder if he'd been wrong on both counts. Maybe she just didn't want him to complicate whatever relationship had been growing between her and Captain Peroxide.

God, he hated that scrawny bastard.

He'd wrestled with his curse for over a century and he suffered everyday so that he could be more than a monster. Though it had been the hardest decision of his existence, he'd left Buffy because it was dangerous for them to be together and he wanted a better life for her, and she replaced him with _Spike._

There was no chance of a home or a family with Spike, and she knew that, but she'd taken him into her heart anyway. _Maybe she knew what she was talking about when she said she didn't want those things, _he thought bitterly,_ but it would have been wrong to take the word of an eighteen year old, wouldn't it?_

The cemetery he'd walked to was spread along a hill, and he stood at the top of it and looked out at the city below him. Visions of Buffy, his beloved Buffy, in the front seat with Spike sprang into him mind and his blood began another slow boil. It wasn't the kiss itself that did it. It was the look on her face when she kissed him. She looked peaceful and happy.

He remembered her saying that his kisses made her want to die. The love in her eyes was there, and it was staggering in its intensity, but their moments together were always so short and too far between.

Peace. Happiness. It's what he wanted for her when he left, but she hadn't seemed to find it. Maybe it had been wishful thinking to believe that she was waiting for him the same way he'd waited for her all these years. He must have been wrong.

A rustle in some bushes to his right caught his eye. "You do _not_ want to do this tonight," he called in warning.

"Actually," the owner of the voice said, standing, "I want to do this _every_ night. I mean, I've never done it, per se, but something in me just knows."

The vampire striding toward him was tall, almost Angel's own height. _What do you know? A blue suit. Wonder how I never noticed it before._ Angel shrugged. "Fine by me. I'm in the mood for a fight."

"Don't know how much of a fight it'll be," the vampire laughed as he lunged at him, and the momentum carried him straight into Angel's fist. It wasn't even much of a punch, really. He just held up his arm and waited for the contact to send his opponent sprawling into the dirt. _Was I that obnoxious when I was young? _Angel wondered. _ No, _he decided,_ Darla would have told me in great detail if I had been._

Angel wasn't prepared for the flare of pain that flowered across his hand. He'd have to get used to human hands being so much softer and prone to injury. He winced and shook his hand while the young vampire picked himself up off the ground gamely.

Since rushing in for a kill shot at the beginning wasn't going to work, the vampire forced himself to take his time and feel out his opponent. The fledgling's instincts were sound, but Angel had centuries of experience on his side. After a few minutes of trading blows, he began to fight in earnest, landing kick after kick to the vampire's body.

"You're strong for a human," the vampire panted, considering his options for escape.

"I used to be stronger," Angel admitted, feigning a left to keep him occupied.

"I could give you my blood," the vampire offered. "You'd be unstoppable, and the feeling. It's incredible. You can't imagine."

Angel began to snigger. "Hold on. Time out," he said leaning against a headstone for support when the laughter nearly knocked him off his feet.

"What's so funny?" The vampire was offended. "This is a big deal here."

Angel held up his hand. "_You_ want to sire _me. _I've come full circle, that's all."

"Who _are_ you?"

"I'd tell you, but you haven't been dead long enough to appreciate it."

The vampire was really confused now. "You aren't _that_ much older than me. Am I being punk'd?"

Angel ignored him and stood up when he'd caught his breath. "Hey, I'm sorry about that. It's unprofessional to have a laughing fit during a fight. I'm ready, if you want to take a swing."

The vampire obliged, and Angel neatly sidestepped his lunge and plunged the stake he had concealed in his sleeve into the middle of his blue-suited front.

The vampire burst into dust, and Angel contemplated the view for a few seconds before he called out into the night again. "Good show?"

A tall, rawboned figure dropped from the roof of a nearby crypt and landed in a graceful crouch with only the barest whisper of sound.

"You must be a Slayer."

"An' you ain't, unless the rules changed." The girl's drawl hinted at a childhood spent in the Deep South.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Angel pointed out, turning slightly to keep her in front of him as she circled him.

"Guess not," she agreed. "Who are you?"

"Name's Angel."

"Angel who?"

"Just Angel," he told her warily.

The Slayer shrugged, as if it didn't really matter. "I love it when vamps kill each other. It's like

getting' two for the price of one."

"That's great. Look, I'd love to stay and chat – actually, that's a lie. Be seeing you." Angel turned to walk away, but the Slayer anticipated his move and circled to stay in front of him.

"What's the matter, Angel? Ain't interested in seconds?"

"I make a point of not fighting Slayers. Well, except for that one time. And the other two." He smirked. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"That's a damn shame, 'cause I _do_ make a point of fighting vampires. "'Course, you could just save us both some sweat and _keep_ not fighting Slayers." She dropped into a fighting stance.

"You got a name?"

"I don't reckon it hurts to tell a dead man. I'm Tuesday."

Angel considered the thickness of her accent. "Is that a Mardi Gras reference? You know, like-"

"I _know_ what you meant," the Slayer growled and threw a handful of punches and a kick to test Angel's strength.

_Antagonize a pissed off Slayer who doesn't know you. Good idea, Angel,_ he thought as he fended off the volley. He was strong enough to face her, but if she put much more into the attack, he'd have bruises from blocking her blows. He was either going to have to start wrapping his arms, or switch to a softer defensive style.

Again, Tuesday pressed him, this time putting some real strength into her punches. Angel managed to evade most of them entirely, but the ones he actually had to block were really taking a toll on him. He fell back a little against the onslaught, but didn't take the offensive.

"You're fair enough at not gettin' hit, but you suck at fighting back," the girl taunted him, taking a stake out of her sleeve.

"You poke me with that thing, you're going to have a bloody corpse on your hands."

"You new? Vamps dust with we stick 'em."

"You aren't the sharpest stake in the arsenal, are you? I'm not a vampire."

"Well, you sure as hell ain't human, so it don't much matter to me." The Slayer was fighting in earnest now, and Angel grunted against the assault. Tuesday was incredibly strong, but she was still an unseasoned fighter, and she used muscle to compensate for skills that weren't yet mastered. Angel ignored chance after chance to land body blows that would have slowed her down, because he was afraid that the fight would turn lethal if he traded blows with the girl. He fell back again, trying to get enough space between them to run, but lost his balance against a displaced footstone and tripped.

Tuesday was on top of him with her stake raised, even as he fell.

* * *

><p>Buffy watched Angel walk away from her again. <em>God, could that have gone any worse? <em>she asked herself. _Why is it we can never catch a break? _His broad back got further and further away, until he turned a corner, and was gone.

She turned toward home, but before she got there, the idea of going inside was more than she could bear. Spike was probably in a fury, and she just couldn't deal with another jealous vampire. _Ex-vampire_, she corrected herself. _Do_ not _slip up in front of one of them._

Instead, she turned and began walking the same direction as Angel. _I probably won't even see him again tonight, so it's not like I'm following him, or anything,_ she told herself. _I just need time for everybody to cool down before I head home._

It was purely habit that made her feet travel the path to the cemetery, she decided. _Besides, _she justified to herself, _the view is nice, and there's a bench under that big tree. It's a good place to sit and think._ Spike's observation about always justifying her actions replayed in her head, and she scowled.

_Fine, then,_ even her internal voice sounded waspish, _I _want_ to go to the cemetery, and if I just happen to see Angel, I'll talk to him. There's no shame in that._

Decision made, Buffy kept walking to the cemetery, but she walked more slowly once she had a definite destination. Catching Angel before he worked out a little anger wouldn't make the night any better.

The night was balmy, and Buffy enjoyed it as she walked down the little drive that led into the cemetery. The ornate wrought-iron gate that should have crossed the road into the cemetery grounds was open, a sure sign that somebody was there.

The paths that wound their way through the burial ground cut wide arcs around the hill, rather than going straight up, making the climb a gentle walk. She strolled along them, taking the ones that kept her closest to the view of the town spread out below her.

Buffy was about halfway to the top when she heard the unmistakable meaty _whump _of fists hitting flesh. From the speed of the sounds, there was a pretty intense fight, probably just on the other side of the hilltop.

_Oh, god, Angel! _Buffy fought the urge to call out to him, hoping that she'd be able to slide into the fight with the element of surprise. Her arms and legs flew as she raced toward the sound of the battle. As she got closer, she heard grunts of exertion that sounded like Angel.

Adrenaline gave Buffy an extra burst of speed, and she topped the hill to see Angel bent nearly double trying to fend off his attacker's blows. _Why isn't he fighting back? _her mind screamed. One of her Slayers could take it, unless he was _trying_ to kill them.

In horror, she saw Angel's foot slip on a loose stone, and he fell in slow motion, the Slayer on him even as they both arced through the air.

"Tuesday! No!" Buffy screamed as the stake in the younger Slayer's hand plummeted toward Angel's chest.

Tuesday was just startled enough for her swing to land a few inches to the right of her intended target. Angel seized the opportunity and threw himself to the side with all his strength, but the effort wasn't enough to keep the stake from tearing into his flesh.

Blood sprayed in big drops across Tuesday's white t-shirt and Angel's face as the Slayer scrambled wide-eyed off her victim. "I didn't know," she stammered unable to tear her eyes away from the crimson stain flowering across Angel's white shirt.

"Oh, god, Angel," Buffy sobbed, as she fell onto him, pressing her hands against the wound.

"Buffy?" Angel seemed bewildered to see her. "What are you doing in LA?" A small trickle of blood slipped from the corner of his lips and he seemed to have trouble breathing.

"Get help. Tuesday!" Buffy yelled at the dazed girl. "Get help, _now_."

The girl snapped into action and whipped a phone out of her pocket. She dialed 911, told dispatch their location, and then she called Mr. Giles. Every Slayer's phone had his number programmed into it, but it was only to be used in the event of a dire emergency. Surely, a human casualty, especially one that left the Slayer-General in this state, qualified.

* * *

><p>Before he he'd even disconnected the call, Giles was out the door of his hotel room, keys in hand. When he'd heard the news of Angel and Spike's arrival, he booked a flight to Miami for the next morning, finding itinconceivable that their appearance on the large Hellmouth would not cause some great catastrophe. Sometimes, Giles hated being right.<p>

It only took a few minutes of reckless driving, while on his mobile to Willow, to reach the hospital. "I cannot," he told her, "stress enough the importance that Spike stay at the Summers' home until the Slayers have been warned about his stronger-than-human and slightly unnatural nature."

It was a dereliction of duty for him to not have thought of it before it came to bloodshed, he decided.

Giles rushed into the emergency room, only to learn that he'd beaten the ambulance by several minutes. He stood near the entrance, with the doctors, anticipating that they would need his help tearing Buffy away from Angel while they worked on him. From what the doctors told him, they anticipated a severely punctured lung that would require surgery to repair.

When the ambulance roared into the unloading bay, Giles was unprepared for the overwhelming quantities of blood that were splashed across Angel's shirt and his Slayer's arms. It never occurred to him that the one-time vampire could be paler than he'd always been, but his pallor shocked Giles into a moment of inaction. This was more than just a wound, he realized with a sinking feeling. If Angel survived this, it would likely be the closest a person could come to death without ending up in the ground.

Buffy and the Slayer he thought was called Tuesday piled out of the ambulance once the gurney was clear. Both girls seemed to be in shock, but they followed the doctors, who wasted no time in getting Angel into a trauma bay. "Keep them outside," they instructed Giles, but they didn't try to force the trio away from the windows that looked into the room.

Inside, the room was a flurry of activity. Nurses cut away Angel's blood-soaked shirt, which Giles only realized had been white when he saw a small patch of it that wasn't stained. A doctor shouted out orders to hang units of blood, while another put a tube into his mouth to help keep him breathing.

"Oh, god, Giles. He's going to die," Buffy sobbed.

He wanted to contradict her, but one of the monitors connected to him began to wail, and yet another doctor burst into the room with a crash cart.

* * *

><p>"I have to bloody be there."<p>

"No, Spike, you need to stay here," Willow told him.

"Buffy needs me right now," he argued with her.

"No," she corrected him. "Right now, Buffy needs Angel to live, and you can't make that happen. She's terrified, and you being there will just make things more complicated."

"She'll be needing a friend, then, won't she?"

"Giles is with her."

"You can't stop me from going," Spike told her grimly, with reaching for the door.

"_Impediment_." Willow waved a hand, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't touch the door. "You're wrong, Spike. I will use every bit of the considerable magic at my disposal if I have to, but you're staying here."

"I didn't think you had it in you, Red," he told her with reluctant respect in his voice.

"Where Buffy's concerned, I have it in me to do whatever I have to."

"Yeah. That's something we have in common."

"Spike, you know how much she cares about him. Do you really want to see that first hand?"

"I'd like to bloody well forget she ever met the ponce, but when has what I want ever mattered much where the Slayer's concerned? She needs me, and I'll be there."

"No matter how much it hurts?"

Spike didn't answer, but the fanatical gleam in his eyes told Willow everything she needed to know. "She's lucky, you know," Willow told him. "None of us understood that before. We thought it was obsession that made you tick, but it was devotion."

"Yeah, well it's a bit late, isn't it? Doesn't matter now Angel's in the picture," Spike started pacing in frustration.

"Angel was _always_ in the picture, Spike."

"That supposed to be encouragement or is it supposed to point out the futility of the situation?"

"It's just a piece of truth. You'll have to figure out what it means, because I don't know." Willow offered him a sympathetic half-smile.

"I can't just sit here, Red. You have to help me do _something_."

"There's nothing you _can_ do right now, Spike. You just have to be patient," she put a small hand on his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Buffy huddled against Giles' shoulder and watched the clock, while Tuesday sat a little apart from them, still covered with a fine spray of red. The elder Slayer's hands were clean, but she was still smeared liberally with Angel's blood.<p>

Buffy's mind replayed the terrible argument that had been the last real conversation she'd had with Angel. In her reverie, she stopped him from walking away. She'd come up with a dozen ways she could have done it. She could have grabbed him hard and not let him leave. She could have begged him to forgive her for hurting him. She could have lied and told him she loved him more than Spike. She could have thrown herself into his arms and kissed him until he wouldn't _want_ to walk away.

Another minute passed, and each one was an alternate hell. In one, she replayed the memory of the accident (_It _was_ an accident – that's what we told the cops)_ over and over. In another, she was just a little faster and managed to stop the stake from… (_Oh, god, don't think about that or you'll be sick_).

It had been hours since the doctors had gotten Angel's heartbeat stabilized and rushed him into the operating room. What was it Riley said when her mom was in surgery? It was a good thing that it was taking a long time. That meant they could fix him. It was when they gave up that you had to worry.

Tuesday was genuinely miserable. She'd never dreamed that a _man_ could fight against a vamp like Angel had. The difficulty she had landing a single blow against him was proof that he wasn't natural, wasn't it? She trusted her gut; it was one of the rules of being a Slayer, but this time her gut had led her to (_probably, oh, god_) kill a man. She wished to hell and back there was something she could do for the Slayer-General, but they weren't friends, and she wasn't sure that any attempts at consolation wouldn't end in a heap of pain.

Two hours and forty-five minutes. Buffy's nerves were wound too tightly, and she could tell she was close to some breaking point. She closed her eyes against Giles' shoulder, and took a deep breath, trying to rein in the chaos in her mind

Three hours and forty minutes after they'd taken Angel to surgery, a doctor in blue scrubs came to talk to them. Buffy watched him approach with terror. She'd been waiting so long for news, but now she wanted to run away. _It's like that Shriner's Cat thing in psych class_, she thought wildly, _everything is fine until he tells me otherwise._

"Mrs. Summers?" Buffy rose on uncertain feet, glad that Giles had the foresight to lie so smoothly. It was the only way, he explained later, that they would be able to get updates about his condition. Angel's lack of identification had helped sell the fabrication. "Your husband lost a lot of blood before he got here, which caused him to go into cardiac arrest before we got him into surgery."

Buffy nodded dumbly. She knew all that; she'd seen it firsthand. _Why,_ she wondered, _does everything seem so far away?_ She was having trouble concentrating on what the doctors were telling her and she wanted to ask them to get to the bottom line, but words seemed to belong to another lifetime.

"In addition to the collapsed lung, his pulmonary artery was damaged, which was the cause of the massive blood loss. Dr. Sanchez was able to repair the damage, and after several transfusions of blood (_vampire juice boxes_, Buffy thought hysterically), he's in stable condition. He's not out of the woods yet, but we believe that, barring complications, he'll make a full recovery."

* * *

><p>"So, that's it, then," Spike said, opening his eyes and breaking the trance.<p>

"Everything's going to be ok?" Willow asked in a relieved voice.

"Buffy's fine," he confirmed, helping the red-haired witch to her feet.

"Angel?"

"Will pull through like the Magnificent Poufter he is." Spike took his cigarettes out of his duster pocket hanging by the door.

"C'mon, I know you're just a little bit relieved," she goaded him. "I mean you don't _actually_ hate him."

"It's unethical to pull stuff out of people's heads during a trance, you know," he said, jabbing his unlit cigarette toward her for emphasis. "And if you ever tell anybody you saw that, I'll get some two-bit fledgling to vamp me so I can come back and _bite_ you."

Willow laughed at Spike's theatrics as he closed the door behind him.

**A/N: As always, thank you for reading. Reviews, espeically the ones laden with concrit, are always appreciated.**


	6. Count My Scars

**I just wanted to take a second to thank my anonymous reviewers... I can't send you messages about how much I appreciate the reads and reviews, so I'll do it here! Reviews like the five hour energy drink of fan fiction writing. They keep me going without the jitter, or the crash. Thanks for each of them.**

**As always, I'd like to thank The Imperfectionist for her amazing beta prowess, and AllyPetals for not minding that I keep telling her the story out of order.**

* * *

><p><em>I look up into the stars, then look down to count my scarsand I know Mercy.<em>

_-Roger Clyne_****

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 5<em>

The sun was rising when Buffy made her way through the front door.

"Buffy." Spike hurried out of the kitchen, and stopped cold at the sight of her. Her eyes were vacant, and she was still covered in brown smears of Angel's blood. _Christ,_ Spike thought taking in all of it, _no wonder everybody was so worried._ He'd bled a thousand people dry, putting him in a unique position to appreciate just how near to death his grandsire had been.

One slow step at a time, he made his way across the room to her, talking all the while, like one would to a skittish animal. "Giles called to tell us the surgery went well. Do they have Angel in a room yet? Come into the kitchen; let me get you a cuppa." Finally, he reached her and he steered her to the table, where he poured her the promised cup of tea.

She sat and stared at it without drinking. Spike took the seat next to hers, and he just sat, waiting for her to react to something. "That was a lot of blood," she told him stupidly. "How could you hold that much liquid?"

"There's a lot of miles of vein in you, I guess, and it all has to be filled up."

"No, not like that," she argued. "Like stomach-wise. How can a vampire _hold_ all that?"

_Oh bollocks, what do I do,_ Spike debated, _placate her or take her seriously? Which one keeps her from going _completely_ sack of hammers on me? _She looked at him impatiently, the first actual emotion she showed since she walked through the door._ Well, honesty it is,_ he decided.

"We- _they_- don't, usually. Sometimes, if a vamp's starved for blood they may eat too much, but it's about the same as a person eating three times more than they need. _Usually_, a completely drained corpse means it's been shared. Vampires don't _have_ to take enough blood to actually kill their prey, you know. They kill for sport and pleasure."

"Oh." Her voice was small and kind of blank. "Thanks."

"Anytime, pet." He surveyed her, and decided that she'd probably appreciate getting the gore off her. He filled a large pan with warm water and rummaged through the drawers until he found a darkly-colored towel to hand her.

Buffy unzipped the hoodie she'd put on over her swimsuit the night before. The sleeves were stiff with dried blood that had soaked through onto her skin. After a few minutes of gentle scrubbing, the visible red was gone, but Spike could still smell traces of it on her. _Blood smells kind of like tequila,_ he realized_, I wonder why I never noticed it before._

Without the visual reminder of the evening's near-tragedy, Buffy seemed to rally a little. "I feel much better," she told him, eyeing the dirty water disdainfully.

"So, how is he?" Spike asked as he rose to clean the pan. The towel, he decided was probably toast.

"They said they think he'll be ok. As long as he doesn't get a blood clot, or an aneurism, and the patch job on his lung holds."

"How'd it happen?"

"One of the Slayers saw him fighting a vamp, and figured he wasn't human. He couldn't talk her out of fighting, then, he tripped, and she… It's a miracle she didn't get his heart. That's why we told Willow to keep you here last night. I don't think you're safe after dark until we explain you to the squad."

_Red neglected to tell me that part,_ Spike noted. _She_ is _a shrewd little witch, manipulating me into staying here for Buffy's sake. _"How's the girl?"

"The girl?" Buffy asked him blankly.

"Little Slayer, staked the non-vampire? Surely Angel got in a few swipes before he fell."

"Oh, Tuesday. She's a little shaken up, but… Angel wasn't fighting back. He just defended himself." Her eyes narrowed at Spike's snort of contempt. "What?" she asked him.

"Nothing," Spike smirked. "Just Angel trying to noble himself into the bloody ground. I don't keep up with Martyr Monthly, but if standing still and letting some bint stake you is all the rage, the fashion world is just going to have to do without yours truly."

"The fashion world's been getting along without you for a long time, Spike," Buffy told him, eying his bleached blond hair. "And there are reasons for Angel to not take the offensive. Good ones, I think."

"Yeah. There's nothing like a near death experience to win your lady fair."

"Spike, you're an idiot. There's no way Angel let a Slayer stake him just to get a leg up on the competition."

"So, I _am_ competition, then?" Spike asked her hopefully.

"I am _not_ having this conversation." Buffy put both hands on the table and pushed herself to her feet.

"We have to have it someday, love," he reminded her.

"Are you _sure_ you have a soul?" Buffy asked him, with a flare of anger. "I just spent the night sure that Angel was going to die. I was terrified, and _this_ is what you want to talk about?"

"I was, too," Spike told her indignantly. "Only not so far up the fear scale as terror." Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I was… concerned."

"_You_ were concerned about Angel," Buffy asked him, raising her eyebrows with dry disbelief.

Spike assumed an apathetic expression and shrugged. "It's not a big deal." He fidgeted, uncomfortable with his admission. "You should probably go to sleep. No doubt you'll want to be at the hospital when Peaches wakes up."

"Good idea- hey, what did you do to your hand?" she asked when she caught sight of the bandage.

"Nothing exciting, love. Just a little cut. Dawn sewed it up for me."

"You let _Dawn_ give you stitches? Are completely unable to say 'no' to the Summers women?" Buffy asked him as she mounted the staircase.

"I do seem to have a weakness, at that."

"You're gonna have a scar, you know." Buffy warned him.

"Not my first. Besides, I hear the ladies love 'em. Now, would you please go to bed before you fall back down the bloody stairs?"

* * *

><p>After a few hours of sleep, Buffy screamed herself out of a nightmare. She was seventeen and fighting Angelus to stop Acathla, a dream she'd had a thousand times, but when she lunged to thrust her rapier into his chest, it was replaced with a stake. Angelus dissolved into Angel; his eyes widened and looked into hers, while blood bubbled against his lips. Instead of falling into the portal Angel slumped to the ground in a pool of red, his eyes vacant and unseeing. She sobbed his name, and fell to her knees to kiss his cold lips, but at the touch of her mouth, his body turned to dust and scattered across the ground.<p>

She jumped out of bed, afraid that she'd fall asleep again and have another round of nightmares. Besides, now that she wasn't dead on her feet, she was a little grossed out at the smell of blood that clung to her hair. Thank god Spike had had the presence of mind make her clean herself up before she went to sleep. If she'd awakened still covered in gore, she would have had the mother of all wiggins.

After her shower, Buffy made her way down the stairs, with as little noise as she could muster. She threw her smelly sheets into the washing machine, along with a double shot of laundry detergent. In the kitchen, she grabbed an apple out of the bowl of fruit on the counter and scrawled a quick note explaining that she was going to be at the hospital for most of the day. As an afterthought, she asked if Dawn would mind putting her linens in the dryer.

The morning sun was brilliant, and it promised to be a real scorcher once it was fully up. She wondered what she and Angel might have done today, if not for the nearly fatal chest wound. A niggling voice in the back of her head tortured her with the thought that after the fight they'd had there was no guarantee he'd have wanted to do anything with her.

The idea tied her stomach in knots. How was it that she'd lived so many years without him, but now the idea that he might not be around made her physically ill? She couldn't image how she'd have survived if Angel had died.

By the time she walked through the hospital's tall glass doors, Buffy had convinced herself that when Angel woke up, he'd be so mad that he'd make her leave. Outside the door to his room, she fussed nervously with her light blue blouse and smoothed her skirt before she walked in. He wouldn't really send her away, would he?

"Buffy," Giles rose to greet her with a tight hug, "I didn't expect you for hours yet."

"I couldn't sleep, so I came back. How is he?"

"No change." At Buffy's frightened expression, he rushed to reassure her. "That's good, Buffy. It means he's no worse."

"Oh." She hesitated. "Can I?" She motioned to Angel.

"Of course, just be careful of the IV, and such. I'm going to step out for a cup of tea."

When Buffy heard the door click shut behind Giles, she took the remaining steps to him, looking down at his perfect face. He was still so pale and fragile-looking, that if not for the shock of dark hair, he could be a Renaissance sculpture.

It was hard to grasp that her beautiful, strong Angel was so terribly hurt. She'd seen him near death before, but even when Faith poisoned him, he'd been strong enough to try to resist taking her blood. She hadn't been completely honest with Spike when she let him believe that she'd pushed Angel into drinking from her because she'd wanted to be punished for trying to kill the rogue Slayer. She did feel like she should be punished, but she'd wanted Angel to bite her because she'd longed for some physical connection to him.

"Hey, handsome." It felt strange to talk to him, but she was determined to do the best job nursing him back to heath that she could. Maybe she would feel a little less awkward if she held his hand while she talked. "How'd you sleep? I had the nightmare again. That's why I came back so soon." She leaned down to press her lips against his forehead, and was relieved to find it warm. "You look good. Like, well, an angel, I guess. You can tell me how lame that was when you wake up. I'll remind you." She sat down in the chair next to the bed, still holding his hand gingerly.

"Not your wittiest," he agreed in a hoarse whisper, eyes still closed.

"Angel! Let me get something for you? Are you thirsty? I could get you some water? No, I should call the nurse first," she babbled as she pushed the call button on the bed.

"Buffy. Buffy." Angel tried to get a word in edgewise. "Buffy!" His voice was weak, but it was enough to break into her nervous rambling.

"Yeah?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Do you want me to leave?"

Angel's eyelids fluttered open. "What? What gave you that idea?"

"I just wasn't sure you'd want me around after last night."

Angel raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'll always want you around, Buffy. You know that."

"Oh, god, Angel," she confessed in relief, "I was so scared."

"Shhh." He comforted her best he could, patting her hand. "It's ok. I'm alright, see?"

"Mr. Summers," short nurse bustled in with a clipboard. "Good morning. You gave us quite a scare last night." She began taking his vitals, chatting as she did. "You're lucky your wife knows first aid. She kept you from bleeding out before the paramedics arrived."

"My wife," Angel's voice was a little less scratchy now that he'd had a few swallows of water, "is an extraordinary woman." His eyes burned into Buffy's, and she felt herself blushing.

When she finished, the nurse barreled out of the room with the same speed and efficiency she did everything else.

"So, what exactly happened last night, _Mrs._ Summers?" Angel's eyes still hadn't left hers, "The last thing I remember is getting staked by a junior Slayer. Did we swing by the courthouse on the way here? I'll bet it was a beautiful ceremony."

"It was Giles's idea," she explained, ignoring the hitch in her throat when Angel called her 'wife', "it was the only way we could get information about you, and you didn't have a wallet with you to prove us wrong. Do you even exist legally?"

"I'm a two hundred fifty year old vampire, or I was until last week. What use could I possibly have had for a legal identification?" Buffy moved closer to the head of the bed, to run her fingers lightly through his hair.

"Well, until you get out of here, you're Angel A. Summers."

"What's the A. stand for?"

Buffy blushed. "Nothing, really. I don't even think they wrote it down, so there's no need to worry about it."

"What's the big deal?" Realization dawned in his eyes. "No. You didn't."

"It was an accident, I swear. I was still in shock, and it was the first thing I could think of."

"Please tell me they're giving me really good drugs right now, and I'm hallucinating this conversation. You did _not_ name me after Xander. Right?" Angel put on his helpless face. "Buffy?"

"I'm sorry."

"How could you?"

"Look at the bright side. At least I didn't say William, right?"

"You are _so_ going to owe me for this," he promised. "Speaking of _'William'_ tell him to call LA. Give him the information you just gave me, and tell him we need a full set of supporting documents ASAP. He'll know who to call."

"Clem's brother, Marvin?" Buffy asked.

"Those are Spike's sources. I have more… expedient ways to get what I need, but Spike likes to do things his own way."

"Angel, I hate to ask this of you, but the cops will probably want talk to you about what happened."

"What's the story?" he asked. He wasn't feeling particularly magnanimous toward Tuesday, but he understood that the Slayers had to be as far under the radar as possible.

"She tripped on the headstone and fell into you, with a stake in her hand, and when she tried to catch herself, she- you know."

"Stabbed me."

Buffy shuddered. "There's no way I can say that again."

"Why'd she have the stake?"

"It was a joke. You know, because we were walking through the cemetery at night."

"Sounds easy enough to keep up with."

"I'm sorry. I never thought about one of the girls mistaking you for-"

"A vampire?" he asked her. "A demon? Last week she would have been right."

Buffy was saved from having to think up a response by Giles's reappearance. "I brought you some coffee, in case you didn't have any before you left this morning." His eyes landed on Angel, who was propped up slightly in the bed with open eyes. "Good heavens, you're awake."

"For the moment."

"Of course, you must be exhausted. How are you feeling?"

"Like I nearly died."

"You gave us quite a fright last night, you know."

"Wasn't the time of _my_ life, either."

"Yes, well, now that you're awake, I believe I'm going to head home and get some rest." Giles excused himself from the room, with promises to return later.

Buffy smiled and ran her fingers through Angel's hair, which he seemed to enjoy. "Why don't you go back to sleep for a while. I'll be here when you wake up again."

"Is that a promise?"

"You're milking this almost dying thing, aren't you?" she asked him with a good-natured roll of her eyes.

"Is it working?" he asked her with a little smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, it's working. I promise. Now, get some rest, or I'm calling Nurse Ratchet to give you something to knock you back out."

Angel's eyes were already closed, but Buffy pulled her chair closer to his bed so she could keep rubbing his head. It was like she couldn't stop herself from touching him, proving over and over again that he was still there.

* * *

><p>When Xander walked through the door of Angel's hospital room, the chipper greeting he'd been working on died on his lips. The monitors around the bed beeped a steady rhythm, but if not for that, he'd have thought the older man was dead. <em>Which he used to be<em>, Xander reminded himself, _only he looked way more ready to dance the funky chicken back then._

Buffy had fallen asleep in the chair next to him, apparently while holding his hand. Her head rested on the bed, and her hair tangled around their entwined hands. She looked peaceful, a rarity for the Slayer. He was glad to see her that way, but his gut clenched at the idea of Angel's return being the thing that made her happy.

With a small sigh, Xander set the bag of Chinese takeout he'd brought Buffy for lunch down onto the table. At the sound of crackling paper, Buffy awoke with a start. "Xander?" she asked him groggily. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Xander apologized, returning the hug she'd crossed the room to give him. The hug, he noted, was proof that she'd been through an emotional wringer. "I thought you might be hungry, but not hungry enough to eat hospital cafeteria food. There's enough to share, if he's allowed to eat people food."

"No, he's still on a liquid diet, which I doubt he'll mind as much as most people do," she said as she opened the food. "But I'll share with _you_, unless you're in a hurry to go."

"I don't want to intrude."

"You know better than that, Xander. Stay." She urged him, thrusting a pair of chopsticks at him.

"You had me at moo goo gai pan."

"You brought beef with broccoli," she reminded him.

"Shhh. Don't fight something that's meant to be," he teased. Buffy giggled as Xander dug into the Chinese food with relish. "I was going to stop on my way back to the site and grab a cheeseburger, but this smells so good, I think I might have cried if you hadn't offered."

"Well, I never want my Xander crying."

"And that's why I love you. Any idea how long he'll be out?" Xander nodded toward the sleeping form behind him.

"Of commission or like a light?" Buffy asked, with a loving look.

"Latter, then former." He tried not to scowl at the expression on Buffy's face.

"He woke up early this morning, right after I got here, but he's been out since. He could come around any time, I guess." Buffy forced her attention back to Xander. "And if he has regular human constitution, he'll be out of commission for a couple months."

"But, you don't think that's the case, do you?"

Buffy hesitated; she knew Xander wasn't going to like hearing that Angel, and presumably Spike, were still somewhat super-powered. "Tuesday said he was really strong and fast. Almost as strong and fast as she was, so it's not unreasonable to think he might have an advanced healing factor, too. We don't know what we're dealing with."

"How is Tuesday?" Xander asked, mostly to change the topic.

"She's fine, I guess. We've taken her off active duty until we can get her some counseling. We don't want another Slayer going all Faith on us, if we can help it."

"So, we're short-handed again?"

"No, I'm going to take her patrol until Cleveland has somebody else ready to come up the ranks."

"Well, that's a relief," Xander told a shocked Buffy.

"I thought you were glad I don't do regular patrols anymore."

"Yeah, but that was when I thought it meant you'd be home at night, not sneaking out like a juvenile delinquent."

"You knew?" Buffy's tone was challenging. "Why didn't you say something?"

"We figured if you wanted to talk about it, you'd say something."

"We? Willow's in on it?"

"Yeah, she put some sort of incan-thingie on your stakes, so we'd know if you needed help." Xander fixed her with a hard look when Buffy ground her teeth in frustration, "Hey, don't give me that look, missy. We wouldn't have had to go behind your back with the charms if you'd been honest about your slaying habit."

"It's not a habit, it's a calling."

"And you can stop anytime you want. We know the drill."

"I'm needed out there, Xander," Buffy argued.

"No, you aren't. You might need to be out there, but that's not the same thing, is it?" Xander tried to reason with her. "You're needed as a leader. You see the bigger picture. You have experience most of these girls will never know. And, most importantly, you're George Washington."

"I'm old and have wooden teeth?" Buffy asked skeptically.

"No, Washington was the first president, and everything he did set a precedent. Hey, that was a play on words!" Xander said with a laugh, then he sobered. "Everything he did, became the model for future generations. He didn't have a manual; they wrote the manuals based on him.

"You're the last of the old Slayer line, Buffy. Those traditions died when you had Willow activate all the Potentials, and there are only a handful of people from the Watchers' Council left alive to remember them anyway. It's all new, and everybody's watching you for their cues."

"And all they see is me breaking the rules because it suits me."

"Well, I wasn't going to be so blunt about it, but, yeah." Seeing the crestfallen look on his friend's face, Xander put a comforting hand on her arm. "Look, if it bothers _you_ to be out of the game, it's going to bother whoever the next Slayer-General happens to be, and probably the one after that. The difference between you and those girls is that right now, the model is flexible. You can still take things into consideration, keep what works, and change what doesn't."

"I know that nightly patrols aren't the most efficient use of my time, but if I just sit behind a desk I'm not going to be any good whenever I _am_ needed in the action."

"So, write yourself into the schedule now and then. Do a 'ride-along' with a random Slayer every week. Bring a girl in from the school or Cleveland to tag along with you for a week a month. There are lots of options to keep your skills sharp. Do surprise visits to some of the outlying Slayers. Inspect the troops."

Buffy shook her head in wonder. "You're one of the top advisors to a super-secret semi-mystical, pseudo-military squad of super-powered girls. Outside of your wildest fantasies, did you ever think you'd see the day?"

"Well, I always thought I had the potential, but I doubted that I'd ever have a chance to prove myself. Also, you get bonus points for tongue-twisty alliteration."

"And by bonus points, you mean…"

"Your very own fortune cookie." Xander tossed her the cellophane wrapped dessert and tore into his own.

"Mine says, 'The simplest answer is to act,'" Buffy read the little slip of paper after she'd eaten her cookie. "Also it tells me that 47 is my lucky number, and that 'Xia tian' is how you say 'summer' in Chinese."

"Seems like it would be easier to just say 'summer', doesn't it?" Xander asked through a mouthful of crunchy cookie.

"What's yours say?" Buffy asked him.

"That if I don't leave now, I'm going to be late getting back from lunch," Xander stood and dropped a brotherly kiss atop Buffy's head. "Want me to bring you something for dinner?"

"Maybe. Do you mind calling later?"

"Not a bit. If he wakes up…"

"I'll tell him you dropped by." Buffy interrupted, saving him from having to think up something nice that was still true. Xander smiled apologetically. He wasn't a fan of Angel, and the man's return to the land of the living didn't seem to have changed his opinion of him. Still, he was going to try to keep an open mind for Buffy's sake.

After he left, Buffy gathered up the garbage from their shared lunch, and paused when she saw Xander's Chinese fortune, 'Not all of the world loves a lover, but their eyes will be upon you' it read. Buffy shrugged as she tossed it into the garbage. They put some crazy stuff in those cookies.

* * *

><p>In the early evening, Spike answered a knock on the front door. A demon with pale yellow skin and red hair stood on the stoop, wearing a blue beach-hat to shade its skin from the sunlight. The overall effect of the hat, the hair, and the skin, coupled with a lurid green suit, was a riot of color that almost made his teeth ache. The demon held out on thick manila envelope without a word, and he left as soon as it Spike took it from his hands.<p>

He tore the package open, and shook the contents onto the center of the kitchen table. A passport booklet, a California driver's license, and a handful of credit cards scattered onto the table. He picked up the passport and opened it; Angel Alexander Summers. _Bugger,_ Spike thought irritated, _maybe I _should_ have let Captain Forehead get my fakes for me. Would have been faster, anyway. At least she named him Alexander. Only way I could have gotten more mileage out of that one is if she'd slipped up and told them his middle name was William._

He gave another look into the envelope, and frowned at the piece of paper that was still stuck inside. He pulled it out, and opened it, and his fist tightened around the paper convulsively. He forced himself to open his hand, and smoothed the wrinkles out of the page. No doubt, somebody would be in a framing mood once they saw this bit of forgery. With a scowl firmly in place, he gathered up the documents and threw them back into the envelope before he left the whole parcel in the middle of the island.

Spike stormed into the bedroom he'd been using for the past four days, and threw himself onto the bed, trying to think about anything but that piece of paper. Nothing seemed to take his mind off of it, and every time he thought his mind was firmly elsewhere, it snapped back to that page.

It was burned into his brain; the Federal style boarder, and the impressive-looking block lettering; City and County of Los Angeles, then underneath, License and Certificate of Marriage. The part that made his stomach clench was seeing his Buffy's name joined with Captain Wanker's. _Might as well get used to it, mate, _he reminded himself grimly, _you knew what you were signing on for when you came back._ He'd always known it would go this way, but deep down, where it was hard to admit, even it himself, he'd been hoping for the chance to prove that he, not Angel, was most worthy of her love. Who was he trying to kid?

Spike sprang to his feet and tore the packet of cigarettes from his duster pocket. When he found it empty, he crushed it in his hand, and hurled it against the wall as hard as he could. It bounced harmlessly off the pale walls, leaving him as frustrated as he was before he threw it. With a growl, he thrust his arms into the sleeves and stalked through the house and out the front door. As gratifying as slamming the door would have been, he refrained, afraid to alert anybody to his leaving, in case Willow was still interested in using the big mojo to keep him indoors.

Spike made his way through the deepening dusk, feeling more like his vampire self than he did a human. In the days since his heart had begun beating, he'd found himself to be mild-mannered. Even annoying Angel wasn't quite as fulfilling as it had been, but the rage that swept through his veins now nearly reminded him of the intensity of his early days as a vamp.

Next to the convenience store he'd planned on visiting for a new pack of cigarettes was a bar. Spike had been sniffing out disreputable joints for over a century, and this one promised to be particularly low-class. He made a quick stop for the cigarettes, then turned toward the bar with a savage smile.

The bar lacked anything as friendly as windows in the front, or the glass door that adorns most businesses. Instead, a heavy wooden door with a small window was set into walls of rough, heavy lumber. It was located on the extreme left hand side of the building, and the small window was paned with mirrored glass. Spike was willing to bet that the door opened near the bar, so that whoever entered would be in full sight of everybody inside, even if they were sitting at the rail.

He opened the door, and stood a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. Stale smoke hung thickly in the air and the click of pool balls could be heard above Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher". He took a look at the handful of rough-looking men in the place and dismissed them before he bellied up to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila.

A few stools down from him, a tall brunette girl who would be bony, except for her too-muscular arms, looked at him with raised eyebrows. She raised her glass of beer in a silent salute before he tossed the liquor back. _It tastes like Angel's blood smelled_, he noted, _and this is the closest I'll get to tasting it for the rest of my days. _Spike was a little sadder about that than he figured Buffy would appreciate. He raised two fingers to the bartender, a silent request for a refill, and the man nodded in recognition, but he finished pouring a pitcher for the two men playing pool.

When he refilled Spike's shot glass and set up a bottle of Pacifico for a chaser, the blond man chanced a look at the brunette. She didn't look back at him, but he could tell from her smirk that she was studying his reflection in the dusty mirror that hung at an angle behind the bar, so patrons could keep their eyes on what was happening behind them. Her confidence irritated him, and he threw back the second drink before starting on the beer. He noticed that the girl's face was gaunt, and deep shadows ringed her eyes. She wasn't a beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but she looked strong.

"You're Spike," she told him, and there wasn't even a hint of question in her voice.

"Yeah? What of it?" he challenged her. He hadn't had enough to drink yet to reach optimum potential for a good fight, but he was hopeful he could get there in short order if he needed to.

The girl shrugged. "I just recognized you, that's all."

"Recognized me how?" She didn't seem like a denizen of the underworld he used to be famous for frequenting, but one could never be entirely certain.

The girl pulled out her phone, and after punching a few buttons, she held up a picture of him, taken back in Sunnydale, unless he was mistaken. "We all got this, so there wouldn't be another…" her voice trailed off huskily and she swallowed, "incident."

"Ah, I suppose that makes you the Little Slayer that Could," he told her flippantly.

"Could what, exactly."

"Ruin my life, apparently," he told her. "Did it ever occur to you that almost killing Angel and not finishing the job could ruin me?"

"Sorry, it must have slipped my mind," she told him with a sarcastic edge.

"Yeah, well, now the Slayer's acting like Florence bleeding Nightingale and passing herself off as Captain Forehead's wife, so remind me to take a few swipes at you next time I'm feeling particularly violent."

"I'm a Slayer. Why do you think you could even touch me?"

"Because I've been fighting longer than your family's been in this country, I'll wager. Even Peaches could probably have taken you out if he'd had a mind to. Never have that problem out of me, I tell you that much." Spike sniffed and took a deep pull off his beer. "And what the bloody hell are you staring at?"

"Your reflection," the dark Slayer told him grimly, "And you're lucky. If it weren't for that reflection, I'd swear you were a vampire."

"Were I you, I'd ask for a refund on the Slayer senses they loaded you up with. Seem defective, or at least handicapped," he taunted her. "I haven't been a vampire in nearly a week. Got a suntan and everything, don't I?"

Tuesday smirked. "You call that a tan?"

Spike snorted. "You call that a comeback?"

"No reason to trot out the company china for the cleaning lady."

"Is that some sort of mongrel Southern insult? Because I have to tell you, it loses something in the telling."

"You know, I think I might actually hate you already."

Spike scoffed, "You think that's something to brag about? Puts you in the exclusive company of damn near everybody I ever met, that does. Besides, I hated you before I met you. If you hadn't botched the staking, you'd have been my favorite person, though, so it's just bad luck, I guess."

"Wow, you really hate that Angel guy, don't you?"

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Sarcasm didn't drip from the words so much as it flowed with great force.

"For what it's worth, I don't think much of him, either."

"Why ever not?" Spike asked her in a singsong voice. "I thought all the birds loved the great bloody poof."

"It's his own damn fault I staked him." Tuesday turned to Spike for the first time since they'd started talking. "I mean, who goads a Slayer into a fight?"

"Sort of thing that could happen to anybody. It runs in the family, I suppose." Spike told her. _Huh,_ it occurred to him_. I guess we aren't actually 'family' anymore, are we?_ It was strange to think about Angel as somebody he wasn't tied to by blood. They had no more in common than any two people who met on the street. _Long as those two people have a hundred twenty years of animosity between them._

Tuesday ignored him. "And it wasn't a fluke, either. He didn't feel human, and neither do you."

"You really are the Special Slayer, aren't you?" Spike asked her nastily, with a gesture to the mirror.

"You may not be vampires, but you ain't quite human, either," she told him venomously.

Spike poured the rest of his beer down his throat. "No, pet, I reckon I'm not." He threw a couple bills on the bar to take care of his tab, and swept out of the bar, his coat billowing behind.

* * *

><p>"You're here." Angel's voice was barely a croak, as he took in the blonde girl sitting in the chair beside him, flipping through a fashion magazine.<p>

Buffy threw the magazine to the side with a casual flick of her wrist. Relief covered her face, "You're awake! It's been so long… I was starting to worry."

"I drifted in and out a few times," he paused to take a sip of the water she held up for him, "but I couldn't quite wake up."

"They've been keeping you sedated," she explained, sitting beside him on the narrow bed and taking his hand in hers. "The nurses told me that you might not really wake up to talk for a while, but I was still worried."

"You don't have to worry about me." He tried to pull his hand away, but Buffy held firm.

"I don't have to, no, but I do anyway. Crazy thing we Slayers do; worry about the people we love."

"You don't have to feel obligated to be here."

_He's ill and irrational,_ Buffy thought, clenching her jaw. _Do not slug him for being impossible. He might die._ She held the thought in, and instead managed a semi-cheerful voice. "Not obligated to be here, but it _is_ the easiest way to get Xander to bring me Chinese take-out."

"Look, Buffy," Angel paused to wet his lips before he continued, "I'm happy for you, for you two, really."

"Who two, what?" Buffy's mind worked furiously to try and figure out what he was talking about.

"Well, not exactly happy, but I understand about you and Xander. I just wish you'd told me before."

"Me and Xander," Buffy repeated back dumbly.

"I want you to be happy. That's always been my main concern."

"Me and Xander," Buffy repeated again, with just as little comprehension.

"I heard you two earlier, while I was drifting in and out," Angel explained. _You think she'd have a little pity on me, make this a little easier, or something, _he thought.

"Uh-huh. And what, exactly did you hear?"

Angel looked away, uncomfortable. "I wasn't eavesdropping. This _is_ my room, and I couldn't exactly get up and walk away.

Buffy groaned in frustration. Could nothing in her warped love life go smoothly? "Just tell me what you heard."

"First of all, you named me after him. Then there was a bit about something that was meant to be, and not crying, and love. I wasn't taking notes, or anything." He turned back and saw her you've-got-to-be-kidding-right expression. "And I'm completely wrong, aren't I?"

"This time, I'm giving you a pass and blaming it on the drugs," she told him. "We already had the Xander is just a friend discussion. Like, back in high school." She smiled, and couldn't help herself from cupping his cheek with her hand. Seeing Angel still jealous over Xander after all these years was kind of cute. Annoying, but cute.

Buffy's smile made Angel's breath hitch in his chest. It was the same secret smile he'd been afraid he'd never see again. The years between them seemed to fall away, at her touch, and he would have given anything to have been able to sit up and press his lips against hers. Unfortunately, moving that far was still a little tricky.

"You look like you want something. More water?" Buffy took her hand away to reach for the cup.

"No, uh," Angel thought fast, "Can you adjust the bed? I think it would be better if I was sitting up." _You know, in case another perfect moment to try and kiss you comes along. _

"We made sure all the Slayers know about you guys and have your picture," Buffy told him while she fiddled with the bed's controls. "I'm so sorry I didn't think about it before. You've always been one of us, and I forgot that there are people who didn't know that."

"Not always," he reminded her grimly.

"Yes, always," she told him firmly, looking into his eyes. "Time spent as Angelus doesn't count."

Angel was grateful for Buffy's ability to separate him from the crimes of Angelus, but he was always just a little shocked at the ease with which she made the distinction. She never looked at him and saw the monster. He wished that he could figure out how she did it; it would be a handy trick to know.

_We have to have to stop looking into one another's eyes_, Buffy thought desperately, when Angel's gaze softened again. _The 'shared moments' are piling up, and that's all kinds of bad news just waiting to happen. _She broke their gaze, looked down at their joined hands, and then she pulled hers away under the guise of stretching her arms behind her. Luckily, she missed the bob of Angel's Adam's apple at the sight of the blue blouse stretching across her chest and the little expanse of golden belly that was bared.

Instead, it was the beeping of the machine monitoring Angel's heart rate that caught her attention. As his pulse sped up, it beeped, almost as if in warning.

"What's wrong?" Buffy cried in alarm.

"Nothing, I'm fine," he rushed to reassure her as his pulse returned to normal.

"Don't scare me like that," she admonished him, sliding off the bed and grabbing the rolling table. "Are you hungry?"

Angel shrugged. "Not so much, but I probably ought to have something."

"You want to start with the broth, or you wanna skip it and go straight for the Jell-O? It's red."

"Those my options? Broth and Jell-O?" he asked with a grimace. "I _really_ like food, you know."

"There's also applesauce and weak tea, but I could probably get one of the nurses to bring you a popsicle, if you wanted."

"I'll start with the broth, I guess," Angel told her grumpily, holding his hand out for the Styrofoam bowl. Buffy ignored his outstretched hand and dipped a spoon into the broth. She brought it to his lips with a little smile.

"I can feed myself." He was torn between loving the attention and hating it.

"You almost died last night," Buffy told him wryly. "Humor me, would you? Besides, you aren't supposed to exert yourself."

"I'm sure the doctors will be pleased with your dedication," he told her dryly.

Angel ate about half of the broth and the applesauce. He tried to remind himself that he'd been on a liquid diet for more than two centuries, and that he'd make it through the next day or so, but then he thought about pizza and chocolate and peanut butter. "Remind me not to almost die again," he told Buffy. "Hospital food's terrible."

"You think this is bad, just wait until they start giving you their version of 'real food.'"

"Oh, god," he muttered weakly. "How long is it going to be before I get anything edible?"

"Don't worry, I'll sneak you in a cheeseburger."

After he ate, Buffy could tell that Angel was fighting off sleep. It was just about dark, and she decided he'd be better off if she went ahead and left for the night.

"Do you have to?" he asked her when she told him she should leave.

"Do you have to?"

"Much as I hate to go, I'm taking a patrol tonight. Sanctioned and everything."

"Something brewing?"

"Not any more than usual. We've taken Tuesday off the roster until she's had some counseling. We don't want another rogue Slayer."

Angel thought back to Faith, and decided that was probably a good idea, but he didn't say anything. "You aren't going out alone, are you?" he asked her worriedly.

"Yeah, probably. Why?" Buffy wrinkled her head in confusion.

Angel tried to sit up and winced in pain, "You should take Spike with you."

"You _want_ me to take Spike out patrolling? Do you have a fever?"

"I don't like the idea, exactly, but I do like it better than the thought of you out there alone."

"Angel, you do remember how many years I've been doing this, right?" Buffy asked, rolling her eyes. She was touched that his protective streak was deep enough he was more concerned with her safety than the rivalry he'd always had with his grandchilde.

"I know," he yawned, "I just…" Angel trailed off as sleep claimed him.

Buffy watched him fall asleep with a little smile. He looked relaxed and peaceful as he took deep breaths. "Good night, Angel," she whispered into his ear. "I'll be back in the morning." She hesitated just a moment, brushed her lips gently against his, and hurried from the room.

Angel's eyes snapped open in time to see her rushing away, and this time when he fell asleep, it was with a happy grin plastered across his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Admit it: at least some of you thought I was going to give Buffy and Spike a happily-ever-after by killing off Angel, didn't you? No such luck (although 'luck' would be relative, wouldn't it?). I don't usually do clean and easy. I'd also like to apologies for the lateness of this chapter: the site wouldn't let me upload, and I'm not sure if it was them or if it was because I was connecting using my phone as a mobile hot spot. If you were so inclined as to hit the little button just below here and leave me a review, I'd be much obliged.**

**-MySedai  
><strong>


	7. You Think I'm Weak

**A/N: I just wanted to say thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews this time around. I am touched by some of the very high praise you're leaving me, and I hope this story continues to live up to your kind words. I've also noticed that I have a loyal, albeit small, group of supporters who leave feedback regularly; again thank you. It's warming to know that my little slice of Buffydom has a fanbase.**

**Of course, I can't go any further without expressing my gratitude for The Imperfectionist and AllyPetals. This story wouldn't be what it is without each of your contributions to the process.**

**I should also warn you that there is a Precision F Strike late in this chapter. I don't think that warrants changing the rating here; but I did want to give you a heads up.**

* * *

><p><em>I think I've already lost you ; I think you're already gone<em>  
><em>You think I'm weak - but I think you're wrong.<em>

_-Matchbox 20_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 6<em>

Buffy surveyed the teams of Slayers in the pre-patrol meeting, and felt a little pang of loneliness. The Scoobies were the inspiration for putting the girls in teams, rather than just turning them out willy-nilly to kill things, and she missed the days when they worked together so closely. Sure, she saw most of the gang almost daily, but their roles in the Council didn't often intersect. She, Willow, and Giles were the heads of their respective branches, while Xander and Dawn were the glue that held Miami together.

Buffy working in a group had been a radical idea as far as the old Council was concerned, and not one that they supported, but nobody could deny that she'd been one of the most effective Slayers in history, even before she'd activated the Potentials. She was also one of the oldest Slayers on record, and in a few months would hold the title officially.

There were twelve teams; each of them consisted of a Slayer, a Wicca, and a Watcher. They worked in rotation, with every third team off, unless there was something particularly Big and Bad roaming around. Their system meant that even when things were fairly hairy, none of the Slayers were over-worked. Buffy could remember back to her high school days when the occasional hard-won party or night at The Bronze could sustain her for months at a time, and felt a little twinge of pride and envythat the girls would never have to work seven days a week and balance school until they were numb from it_._

Having a Watcher and a Wicca dedicated to each team had been Xander's idea, and it was one of the best changes they had made when they were organizing the new Council. The idea reinforced equality between Slayer, Witch, and Watcher, something that had been sorely lacking amongst the old Council, who'd never even considered letting Witches in on the mission.

Most of the teams were like families, living together and taking care of one another- on and off the job. Tuesday's team wouldn't take kindly to having Buffy take her place, even for a few days; they considered it a slight at best, and an insult at worst, that she'd been pulled from active duty.

Still, Buffy planned on using this incident to springboard some of the surprise inspections that Xander had mentioned, so she sat down with Tuesday's Watcher and Wicca with a smile that neither of them returned. _Great_, Buffy thought, _this is going to be a fun meeting_. Xander and Dawn strolled into the room, with arms full of assorted maps and folders. When they entered, the groups all stood as a sign of respect.

The assembly was seated at a nod from Xander. When the noise died down, he began to speak in an authoritative tone. The self-depreciating geeky boy she'd met nearly ten years before was gone, and in his place was a man that led some of the strongest women on the planet.

"Most of you know about the incident last night. A Slayer staked a non-demon being." Tuesday's teammates scowled ferociously at the words Buffy thought he must have learned from Riley. "There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the incident, and no blame is being placed upon the Slayer involved.

"Nonetheless, Tuesday Dupree his been removed from active duty until further notice. We know that is bound to generate some discussion, so we will be happy to answer questions about the situation." Xander's voice was strong here, a tone he rarely used when he was secure in the Scooby fold.

Surprisingly, none of Tuesday's team raised their hands, but their scowls stayed firmly in place.

A slender Slayer with red hair raised her hand. When Xander recognized her, she asked in a timid voice, "If Tuesday didn't do anything wrong, why was she fired?"

Xander met Buffy's eyes, in a silent question. She understood that he was asking if she wanted to field the question, and she shook her head 'no'. It was better for these girls to hear this from somebody they knew and trusted. She was only an authority figure to them, and one they rarely spent time with. While she commanded their respect, Buffy didn't know any of them well enough to have their trust. "Thanks for asking, Kendall. Tuesday wasn't fired. We've taken her off active duty as a preventative measure for her own well-being. We all hope that Tuesday will suffer no psychological trauma from harming a human, and we all know that she's a very strong young woman. Still, it would be neglectful of us to not realize that the potential exists for post traumatic stress disorder, among other things. We take care of our own, and that's all that is happening here. This isn't a situation we've had to deal with as an organization, but that will be the policy anytime a human is injured in the line of duty."

Kendall nodded, and several of the Slayers in the room looked decidedly less tense.

"Are there any other questions?" Xander asked.

A tall black slayer with a multitude of braids stood up. Wooden beads at the end of each braid clicked from the motion. "What were the extenuating circumstances?" A murmur rippled through the crowd. Apparently, the question had been on a lot of minds.

"Thank you, Simone. Two old… allies" - the hesitation was so brief that Buffy doubted anybody but she noticed it - "have come to fight alongside us here on the big Hellmouth. Those allies have an unusual skill set and were mistaken for hostiles."

"But why?" Simone pressed, "If there are people out there I could mistake for demons, I want to know what to look for. I _need_ to know, otherwise there's no way I can do my job without the fear of killing somebody." Slayers and their teammates alike agreed with her.

Xander looked to Buffy again; this time she took a deep breath and stood, but she didn't walk to the podium to stand with her friends. "Angel and Spike," she began, and a titter of recognition passed amongst the Watchers, "were vampires." She waited a moment for the surprise to die down before she continued. "They both fought alongside me for years before taking down the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Heart, a demonic law firm. They helped me avert apocalypses; their loyalty is beyond question."

She was interrupted by an eager Watcher. "But I thought the vampire Spike perished in Sunnydale."

"He did. Spike was the Champion that wore the amulet. He died killing hundreds of Turok-Han and sealing the Sunnydale Hellmouth. In my experience, Champions don't always stay dead."

A witch with curly black hair bounded to her feet, "But if vampires can be good, why do we kill them? I mean, should we give them a trial, or something, to see if they're willing to become allies?"

Buffy held up a hand to stop her. "Never doubt that a vampire is your enemy. Everything you've ever learned is absolutely true. Angel and Spike are unique; they both had souls, and that's too long of a story to get into. If you're interested in it, ask your Watchers to read through the Watcher-General's diaries from that period, or watch Andrew's movies. I think he made a whole series based on the diaries.

A voice from the back of the room called out in a small voice, "You said 'were'. How can that be past tense? I thought after somebody got turned the choice was blood-sucking demon or pile of dust."

Buffy thought about how much of the story to tell, and went with very little to keep the idea of vampire rehabilitation from taking root. "It is, but those two have made an art out of being the exception to the rules. They're as human as I am, and nearly as fast and strong."

Xander took the floor back to save Buffy the increasingly personal questions he knew had to be coming. "If there are no other questions, Dawn will hand back the reports for cases still open…" He steered the meeting back to its normal course, showing the locations of possible hotspots on the maps and keeping the teams abreast of everybody else's work. Communication, they'd learned, was integral in a group this size. Without daily meetings like this one to share information, different teams could find themselves unknowingly working on the same case and, worse, having information that when put together could save lives. When he was finished, the group broke into their teams to strategize for the night's patrols.

"What are we working on?" Buffy asked with a smile, hoping that the explanations had helped Tuesday's teammates accept her absence.

Andy, the Watcher, gave her a look that was just this side of hostile. "_Tuesday_ has been trailing a nest of vamps for a few days. She's had the opportunity to kill one or two at a time, but at the cost of causing the rest of the nest to scatter. The nest looks to be about twelve strong."

Buffy nodded. "Do we have any idea where they might be holed up?"

Andy opened a brown expandable folder and removed a map. Red dots showed activity that they knew to be related to the nest, and green dots showed activity they suspected was their handiwork. "We believe they are holed up here, in this warehouse," he pointed a finger at the map. "Tuesday was _supposed_ to do a little recon on the place tonight." It was as pointed a comment as anybody had the courage to make to the Slayer-General.

"No." Buffy studied the map. "I don't think so."

"What?" Andy's voice hardened. "That's the most likely place."

"Which is why it isn't the right place," Buffy explained. "Look, twelve vamps aren't a bunch of hunting buddies. They're gonna have a hierarchy, and whoever is powerful enough to lead 'em didn't get that way by being obvious." She studied the map for a few more minutes. "No, my guess is they're here," she pointed to an abandoned bank. There were a few red dots around the area, but it was almost exactly opposite the ring from the area with the highest concentration of red dots."

"How can you throw away weeks of research and replace it with a guess?" He sneered at her.

Buffy sighed inwardly. She really didn't want to pull rank, but this brat needed to learn who he was dealing with. "Because I've been doing this since before you could shave. Your research was good and it was solid, and with nine years' experience, it probably would have led you to the same conclusion I came to." Andy looked sufficiently cowed for Buffy to continue in a softer voice. "Look at the dots. They're very carefully ringed around the factory to make it look like vamp central. They're certainly watching it, and probably have it booby-trapped. Now, if you cross check, or whatever, the dates to the dots near the bank, they're probably some of the earliest attacks. After they made the bank their permanent base of operations, they stopped hunting near it, and tried to draw attention away from it by concentrating here." Buffy tapped a fingernail against the mass of dots."

"Oh." Andy looked a little sickly, and the witch stared at her with huge eyes.

Buffy stood and gathered her stake. "I'll check it out tonight while I'm on rounds and see what's what, but I'll wait until morning to check in, unless I need back up." She caught Xander's eye as she left the room, and felt a little glow at the proud look he gave her.

Later that night, Buffy walked down a dark alley and wondered if there was any other kind of alley. _Maybe, somewhere there's a town with bright floodlit alleys and no looming shadows,_ she thought. _Probably in the Midwest,_ she decided. The sound of a can being stepped on told her she wasn't alone. She stopped, arms crossed over her chest, but didn't bother turning around. "Are you just gonna stalk me all night, or did you want to patrol with me?"

"I've been following you since you left your house, and you didn't notice me until I kicked that can. Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Spike stepped into her view with a scowl.

Buffy was genuinely surprised; she knew he'd been following her for a few blocks, but she'd left home almost an hour ago. "I guess I'm a little preoccupied."

"Yeah, well be preoccupied when there are fewer nasties out and about, would you, love?"

"I can take care of myself, Spike," Buffy snapped, waspishly. She wasn't sure what irritated her more: Spike catching her off guard or the rebuke.

"No question there," he agreed amiably. "So, we going to take out that big nest of vamps tonight? There must be a dozen of the buggers. Be a tough fight with just the two of us."

"How do you know about the nest?" she turned to him with narrowed eyes.

Spike flashed a wicked half-smile, but kept walking. "Cause Spike always knows where the nasties are, doesn't he?"

"You're not dealing in demon eggs again, are you?" she asked, only half-serious.

"Of course not!" Spike said in a mock-insulted voice. "I'm a real boy now. Gotta soul an' everything, as you well know. Been sussing out some contacts in the city. I know a guy from the old days, got him to introduce me around. 'Course he still thinks I'm a vampire, and I don't fancy being in the room if he figures out I'm not

Buffy laughed. "You're passing yourself off as a vampire for what, a few games of kitten poker?"

"Passing myself off as the Big Bad I used to be is a great way to get the inside scoop from the down and dirty. Kitten poker is an added bonus. Speaking of which, I won you a lovely Manx. He's grey with a white cross on his chest. Makes him fairly vampire-proof, and the perfect pet for a Slayer such as yourself."

"Spike. I don't want a cat." Buffy groaned in exasperation.

"Well, if I hadn't taken him, it would have been like a neon sign over my head said I wasn't evil."

"You aren't evil."

"No, but they don't know that. You could call him Bane," he told her helpfully.

"Fine. We'll keep the cat, but you're cleaning the litter box."

"Sounds like a job for Angel, that does," Spike said with a laugh at the idea.

"I don't care who does it, as long as it isn't me."

"Angel it is, then." The two stopped chattering as they approached the bank. They kept to the shadows, and were rewarded for their patience when they saw four vampires approach, glance surreptitiously over their shoulder, and enter the building. Four different vamps left in a group after a few minutes. Buffy and Spike circled the building stealthily, keeping an eye out for the vampires' return. There was only one entrance to the low brick building, but the drive-up window could be used for as an escape route.

After about an hour, the four vampires returned, and another four left. "Hunting parties," Spike observed, "whoever's in charge of this lot knows they're being watched."

"We'll need to strike soon, then."

"Eight on two if we strike now; odds aren't too bad," Spike considered in a thoughtful tone. "Right, then, in we go." A feral smile crept across his face. Becoming human obviously hadn't diminished his love of violence.

"You're not going in," Buffy told him firmly.

"Like hell I'm not," Spike snarled. If he'd still had a game face, she would have been looking at it. "There's no way you're going in there alone."

"I don't plan on it."

Spike froze. "You don't trust me to have your back, then, Slayer?"

"I trust you, Spike. I don't trust that you won't get yourself killed in there."

"I can handle myself in a fight. It's one of those skills I picked up somewhere over the last 125 years or so."

"As a vampire, yes."

"I'm not quite as strong as I was, but I'm still bloody fast, and that was always my biggest strength. I haven't spent the past few days eating Cheetos and watching pornography, you know. I _know_ how to use this body." He tilted his head to the side and touched his tongue to his teeth, one of his sexier gestures, especially with his eyes blazing. "Want to have a go and see?"

Buffy threw a low kick at his leg, bringing her shin brutally against his outer thigh. The muscles cramped, and Spike lost his balance for just a second before he recovered to launch himself at her. She neatly sidestepped his charge. "You know how to fight like a vampire. You're used to only having two really vulnerable areas; the neck and the heart. Now, everything's a vulnerable spot, and that second it took you to recover could have been your life. I can't risk you in a fight until I know you can protect yourself."

Spike threw her a disgusted look. "If being a real boy is just gonna get me benched, I'm not sure I like this arrangement, after all."

Buffy gave him a half smile. "It's only temporary. Besides, you can still fight with the girls all you want. It'll be good practice for both of you."

"Wouldn't mind taking a shot at one of those birds, anyway," Spike muttered, still rankled at not being allowed to help Buffy take out the nest they were walking away from.

"Come, on, let's head back and see if we can find another team to come give us a hand here."

"What 'us'? I'm not a part of this fight, remember?"

"We still need you to be our tactical commander." Buffy pointed out, "I mean, you're our expert on vampires and Big Bad tactics, aren't you? We need you."

Spike snorted, but seemed to look forward to his role. "Fine, then, but I want it to be official. And, if I'm the commander, what I say goes, even for you."

"Spike-"

He cut her off sharply. "No exceptions. You're being a regular Slayer, and I'm the- what did you call it?- Tactical Commander. Not gonna get anywhere with these girls, you go cutting my legs out from under me."

Buffy made a frustrated sound. "Fine. You're in charge, and I'm just a part of the Slay-squad. It'll be like a great big chess game; Big Bad versus Big Bad, and we're the pawns."

"Excellent." Spike rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

* * *

><p>An hour later, they returned to the bank, along with an Asian Slayer named Jasmine and her Wicca. The Wicca would remain outside the building and provide Spike with a view of what was going on inside. Her spell would allow him to see the rooms the Slayers were inside, from a third-person perspective, not unlike a video game. He would be able to communicate with the fighters using tiny headsets that were almost invisible once they were clipped to their ears.<p>

"Ok," Spike told Jasmine as they prepared to go in, "I want _you_ to take the lead." The younger girl started in surprise. "I know Buffy's fought clutches of vampires this size before; hell I fought with her on a couple and against her once. I want to see how you handle the situation.

"Clear the rooms one at a time. Most of the top floor is an open floor plan, and the offices are enclosed in glass. I don't expect there to be more than a couple of lookouts there, so after you've cleared it, you'll make your way to the basement. That's where the real fun begins."

"Did he just say 'fun'?" Jasmine asked Buffy in a small voice.

"Yeah. He's twisted like that."

" Still giving commands here." The two Slayers exchanged tiny smirks before looking down demurely. "The head honcho here has likely made the vault into some sort of throne room for himself. Vampires are _not_ driven by loyalty. If he sees that his minions have taken heavy casualties, he _will_ try to run. If he gets past you, I'll take care of him. Any questions?"

The Slayers both shook their heads and shouldered their crossbows. They made their way to the bank's front doors, keeping to the shadows as much as they could. On the count of three, they burst into the building, their arrows striking home on the two vampires closest to them. Two others were scrambling to their feet, but Jasmine and Buffy were on them before they could get away. Jasmine traded blows furiously with the tall female, while Buffy and the stockier male danced around one another, trading short volleys of strikes and blocks before stepping back. Buffy's breath whooshed out of her when he caught her in the chest with a brutal round kick, but she rolled backward with the impact, saving herself some broken ribs.

"Careful, Slayer," Spike's voice cautioned. "He drops his left hand when he jabs."

"I know how to fight, Spike."

"And I know he's dropping that left," Spike snapped. "It's my job to help you and the Slayer Junior get through this in one piece. Now, take my advice and kick him in the face next time he throws a jab."

Buffy bit back a retort and returned to the fray, swearing she'd never let Spike be in charge again.

"Ok, then, Junior. Listen up."

"My name's Jasmine," the younger Slayer grunted in exertion.

"You're fighting her fight, _Junior_," Spike continued, "she's controlling the pace, and she's wearing you down. This is her only fight tonight, and you're making it nice and comfortable for her. You have at least four more vampires to fight."

Jasmine stepped back from the female, and circled her for a few seconds, considering her options. Without warning, she lunged for the vampire, and caught her by surprise, throwing her to the ground. The two rolled and flipped over and over the floor, until Jasmine lay on her back, and the vampire was atop her, hands at scrabbling at her throat. Then, the vamp's eyes widened in surprise, at the stake Jasmine had managed to plant in her chest and she crumbled into dust. Jasmine sprang to her feet, turning just in time to see Buffy bring her opponent to his knees with the kick Spike had told her to make. Before he could recover, she drove her stake deep into his chest and smiled in satisfaction as he burst into dust.

"Junior, incoming at your eight o'clock!" The vampire burst from the stairs and Jasmine barely had time to step to the side before its fangs ripped her throat out. Blood trailed down her neck from a grazing wound she hadn't been able to avoid, but she threw herself at the back of the off-balance vampire that had nearly killed her and shoved her stake through his spine and into his heart.

"Slayer, give me an update on Junior," Spike ordered, as Jasmine looked dumbly at the place the vampire had been, a hand to her bleeding neck.

"She's not badly hurt, just shaken up," Buffy told him, looking the girl over.

The younger Slayer blinked when Buffy snapped her fingers in front of the girl's eyes, and came back to the present. "Five down," she pointed out, shakily, "almost half done."

Buffy smiled at the girl and followed her to the stairwell. Vampire number six was taken out on the landing between the floors, but not before he had the chance to raise the alarm. Buffy and Jasmine exited the stairwell, and found themselves surrounded, not by the half dozen they expected, but by nine vampires with hungry expressions on their faces, and one other with the gloating air of somebody who is assured of victory.

"Oh, boy," Buffy said in a small voice as she took in the assortment of vampires around her, all of whom seemed eager to begin the fight.

"Fuck me," Jasmine said succinctly.

"Yeah, what you said."

The head vampire, a tall, broad man with a red beard who looked like the stereotypical Viking regarded the two women for maybe half a minute, then with an abrupt chopping motion of his right hand, he said, "Kill them both," and turned to return to the vault.

"Gotta love a guy who doesn't waste time with bad puns," Buffy said grimly.

"In and out," Jasmine agreed. "Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am."

"Unfortunately," Buffy pointed out as the sea of vampires began to move towards them, "that also means they don't waste time with the bad puns."

"And, really… What self-respecting bad-guy doesn't need a little punnery before he does the deed?"

"That's all I'm saying," Buffy said by way of agreement, swinging mightily at the first vampire that came within arms' reach. He went down with a satisfying 'thud', but as he fell, three more rushed forward to take his place.

The Slayers fought close to the wall to keep their flanks protected, and Buffy was a little jealous of the long sword that Jasmine pulled from her back. The scythe was as much a symbol of her rank as a weapon these days, so she'd left it behind. Now, she wished for its comforting heft in her hands as she traded blows with a bemulleted male. "I have to kill you on principle alone," Buffy told him, dodging what might have been a devastating haymaker. "That haircut is twenty years past its prime, and it shouldn't have been allowed to exist then." She grabbed his over-extended arm, and used it to pull him into a rib cracking round-kick.

Jasmine danced forward, plunging her sword into the vampires' unprotected extremities. The cuts healed quickly, and weren't lethal, but they did slow her opponents down a bit while she waited for an opening. Buffy's kick to the bemulleted vampire brought him staggering into range of Jasmine's sword, and he exploded into dust as her sword severed his neck. "I hated the 'do as much as you did."

"Fair enough. How do you feel about this guy's jacket?" The vamp that sprang forward to take Mullet's place wore an old, black, wide-lapeled, blazer.

"Actually," a short female with a bouncy ponytail and a mop handle landed a body shot that forced a grunt from Jasmine, "I kind of love it. Very retro." Her sword sliced upward into the female's underarm, slicing through muscle and tendon, leaving the arm useless. The vampire fell backward before Jasmine could take her head, but at least she was out of the fight. "I'd wear it with a white v-neck t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and giant silver hoop earrings."

"Good call," Buffy said, impressed at the girl's fashion sense. Also, nearly severing the vampire's arm. "Pity it's about to be dust."

"Ask him to take it off before you stake him, would you?"

"What do you think?" Buffy asked him, taking a step back. "Your jacket could live on."

The vampire, enraged, snarled and rushed at the blond woman, she used his momentum to hook a leg out from under him, taking him to the ground. She was with him as he fell, stake arcing through the air before he was flat on the ground. When he dissipated, Buffy was left off balance on her hands and knees. Before she could regain her feet, she heard Spike's voice in her ear, "Buffy, watch out!"

The female with the useless arm took advantage of Buffy's vulnerability, tackling her from the right and covering her, so that the Slayer was pinned on her side. It would only take her a second to regain control of the fight, but the element of surprise gave the vampire the upper hand, and Buffy wouldn't have a second before the vampire's fangs found home_. This one's about to have a real good day_, Buffy thought wildly in the instant before the vampire struck.

Instead, the vampire cried out in pain and collapsed on top of her before falling away into dust. When she blinked the grit out of her eyes, she saw Spike standing over her, protecting her until she could get back on her feet, his heavy black boots flashing out at anything that got too close.

Buffy scrambled to her feet, gratefulness and irritation warring within her. _Doesn't he _ever_ listen to anything I tell him_, one part of her railed, while the other thought, _thank god he didn't listen._ There wasn't an ace in her sleeve that time, or a pithy comment; only her rapidly approaching death.

"Get out," Buffy ordered him. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"Like Hell," he replied shortly. "And, I'm running this little show, so you can lose the attitude."

She was _never_ letting him be in charge again. "Fine," she scowled, "the odds are better with the three of us, anyway."

"Three?" Spike hurled himself at a vampire, in a flurry of punches and kicks that overwhelmed the demon. An almost maniacal smile was spread across his handsome face as he fought. "Better check your figures, Slayer."

Buffy looked away from her own opponent to see that Jasmine's Witch had joined the fray, using her magic to fling heavy objects at her Slayer's opponents to keep them off-balance and unable to gang up on her. She wasn't very strong yet, and none of her spells seemed to deal any real physical damage, but she was imaginative with what she knew. A dazzling show of light and sparkles in close quarters blinded a young-looking vampire and made him an easy target for Jasmine's sword.

With the four of them fighting together, the remaining vampires fell easily, leaving only the Viking in the vault. The four strode through the basement level of the bank, which was filled with the detritus of a dozen nesting vampires. Pallets were shoved into corners or against the walls, boxes full of clothes were stacked haphazardly here and there, and half empty bottles of booze were scattered liberally amongst the mess.

The vault, on the other hand, was finely decorated. The Viking slouched upon a throne-like chair, upholstered in dark velvet. Heavy blood-colored draperies hid what must have been his sleeping quarters and covered the steel walls of the vault. Thick, dark carpeting covered what was probably a tile floor, making the room feel dark and forbidding, where it must have once felt cold and sterile.

It struck Spike as odd that the vampire didn't look more concerned at the approach of the four people who had just killed off his minions in a matter of minutes. When they found themselves unable to pass through the doorway into the vault, his face erupted into a smug grin.

"It's a spell," he told them conversationally. "There are some very good witches for hire in Miami. You might try looking them up. They might sell _you_ some pointers." The last statement was directed at the witch, who bristled at the implied insult.

"Jada," Buffy addressed the Witch by name for the first time, "can you get us in?"

The witch stepped forward, resting her dark hand lightly against the barrier. She closed her eyes and mumbled under her breath for a few minutes with a look of intense concentration. "It's a perversion of the magic that keeps vampires out of a human dwelling without an invitation. It's… absolute." There was a grudging respect in her voice. "I mean, I just can't feel a way past it. Maybe the Mother," she referred Willow by her title, "could undo it in time."

The Viking laughed. "My witch will have pulled me from this place long before yours can undo the spell. I just have to wait until he comes."

Spike clenched his jaw and strode away, too angry to hear the Slayer's comeback. He wished he'd had one of those handy barriers for his crypt. Could have saved himself a near-staking or two at the very least. When he returned, a hastily assembled Molotov cocktail in hand, he had the satisfaction of seeing the Viking's look of smug superiority fade to shock, then fear. "If we can't get in, we'll have to smoke him out, won't we? Maybe he'll do us a favor and stay in there and burn instead." He touched his silver lighter to the short rag sticking out of the bottle, waited until it burned to the point of no return, then lobbed it into the vault.

The bottle smashed against a covered-steel wall, and the heavy draperies were aflame instantly. The flames raced along every cloth-covered surface, then to the carpet. The fire wouldn't last long; the vault itself wouldn't burn, and the furnishings would be consumed quickly. Still it would be very hot, and very intense, and it would be more than enough to burn the very-flammable vampire to ash.

When the fiery conflagration nearly engulfed him, the Viking ran past his protective barrier with a shriek. He didn't stop to fight, but tried to push his way through the three fighters. Jada held up a hand and stopped his progression, and his eyes rolled in terror as he contemplated the grisly death that was surely about to befall him.

"It's your show, Junior. Only fitting he should be your kill."

Jasmine nodded with a grim smile. "Jada, let him go."

Jada's jaw tightened unhappily, and she looked to Spike for confirmation. "You heard the bird. Let him go." As he spoke, he moved to block the way to the door, should the Viking manage to get past the younger Slayer.

The Viking was a skilled fighter, but he'd already given up and the fight was over in short order. Jada and Jasmine celebrated with a whoop, while Spike and Buffy watched more reservedly. When the noise died down a bit, Spike examined Jasmine's neck wound and told her that he didn't think it would need stitches, although she'd probably have a scar. She, oddly, didn't seem too upset at the prospect. Battle scars earned taking out a nest of vampires with the Slayer-General were apparently all the rage amongst the recruits.

Once the building was secure, Jasmine and Jada rushed back to celebrate with their Watcher. As the younger women rushed off, Spike and Buffy stood awkwardly across from one another, avoiding one another's eyes. Buffy traced patterns in the dirt with the toe of her boot.

"So," Spike tried.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed.

"Battle done. Primal whatsit. That sort of thing?"

"Yeah. All that." Buffy crossed her arms across her chest.

"But no 'that-ing'." Spike confirmed scrubbing a hand through his blond hair.

"No," Buffy confirmed.

"Right." They stood in silence for ten very long seconds, still not looking at one another. "So, you wanna go find something else to kill, then?"

"Oh, god, yes," Buffy said desperately, looking, finally into Spike's eyes. The ridiculousness of the situation hit them both, and they laughed until Buffy had to lean against the brick wall of the alley for support.

"Come on, then, Slayer. The night's young, and I'm sure there are creepy-crawlies about." They turned and began to walk through the never-ending maze of alleyways closer to downtown Miami.

Only a few streets down, their way was blocked by two very tall demons that almost looked like they were constructed of slow-moving melted red and brown waxy. "Ask and ye shall receive," Spike pointed out wryly.

"Any idea what these guys are?" Buffy asked, dropping into a fighting stance.

"No, but there are three more of 'em behind us." She felt Spike against her back, sword in hand ready to protect her flanks. A shot of fear jolted through her. There was no way they were getting out of this alley without a fight. "Remember, keep your blocks tight. Don't just absorb a hit to make an opening," she hissed under her breath.

"Yes, Mum. Anything else?" Spike asked, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"Yeah. Where'd you get the sword?"

"I am the Highlander," he said dramatically. "Which means, it was either under my coat, or up my-"

"Why didn't you use it at the bank?"

"Well, I forgot about it in all the commotion," Spike admitted sheepishly.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Spike? Try not to get yourself killed." The demons were nearly within striking distance.

"My word, Slayer. Now?" he asked.

"Now."

The two exploded outward. Spike neatly took the head off the first demon after only a few seconds, but the two that approached with it ignored him, and moved past him toward Buffy. "Oi. Do you not even see me here?" he waved his hands trying to draw attention to himself.

The demons really didn't seem to notice him, concentrating instead on Buffy. They didn't seem interested in fighting her, exactly, but instead lumbered toward her with outstretched arms, as if they planned on hugging her to death.

"Ew. Spike, get them off me." Buffy struggled against the stack of demons that had caught her in a revolting puppy pile. Spike shrugged; it was one of the damned strangest things he'd ever been privy to, and skewered each of them in turn, lobbing their heads off once they were free of the pile.

When each of them were dead, Buffy was left sprawled on the ground, covered in the disgusting red and brown goo that had rolled off each of the demons. "Are you going to help me up, or what?" She asked him through gritted teeth.

"You look disgusting," Spike informed her, sliding his sword into its scabbard and extending it for her to grab hold of.

She shot him an evil glare, but pulled herself up anyway. "Thanks for giving me a hand," she told him in a bitingly sarcastic voice.

"Oh, come on," Spike scoffed. "You're covered in goo. There's no way you would have been all touchy if it'd been me."

Buffy ignored him, and began to march toward home. "I just want a shower," she told him, trying to squeegee the sticky mess off her face before it could run into her eyes or mouth.

Spike followed her, wisely choosing to keep his mouth shut. About fifteen minutes later, they were out of the maze of alleys and into the residential neighborhood Buffy lived in. Spike glanced at the still-grumbling Slayer out of the corner of his eye, and asked in a too-calm tone, "Buffy, love, are you feeling alright?"

"You mean except being covered by demon gore? Peachy. Why?"

"It's just that…" Spike trailed off, "You look a little-"

"If you say peaked, I'm going to slug you."

"Good thing I was going to say transparent, then, innit?"

"What?" Buffy held up her hand for inspection. Her fingertips were already invisible, and her hand and arm looked insubstantial. While she watched, they began to disappear, as though being painted by a brush. "Oh, great. Not only am I covered in demon goo, I'm covered in mystical demon goo of invisibility."

"Maybe it'll wash off," Spike said helpfully.

"Maybe." Buffy didn't sound hopeful. "Being invisible sucks."

"You didn't seem to mind last time," Spike said lasciviously.

An invisible hand whacked the back of his head. "God, Spike, do you ever even _think_ about not making inappropriate comments?"  
>"Nope. It's a character flaw," Spike told her cheekily. "Angel broods, and I make inappropriate comments, usually of a sexual nature. It's what we do."<p>

"Well, one more comment, and I'm going to make with the irrational beating. It's what _I_ do," she told him grimly. "This really sucks, you know. Dawn's probably going to freak out again."

"Platelet not take it well the last time, then?"

"Not even a little bit." She sighed, and the last of her faded from view, "Of course, I was floating a pizza box around the kitchen to amuse her at the time. Maybe that was the part that weirded her out."

"Right. Well, here we are." They crossed the yard to the front door. "Shall I give Red a ring, then?"

Buffy shook her head, and then remembered that he couldn't see her. "Let me go get a shower first. With any luck, it's just the gunk that's doing it, and when it's gone, I'll be all visible. If not, we'll call the Scoobies." She opened the door, and Spike hurried in after her, and then closed it against the humid tropical air.

"Spike!" Dawn called from the living room, where she was watching TV with Xander, the kitten, Bane, asleep in her lap, "Where's Buffy?"

"She's around," Spike said smoothly, listening to Buffy make her way up the stairs. "Had to put something in the garage, I think. Probably go straight up for a shower after that, get the dust out of her hair."

"Uh, Xander and I were just about to watch a movie." She gestured toward the set. "You want to, uh, join us?"

"Uh-huh." Spike looked at the fidgeting Dawn, then at Xander, who was studiously ignoring him, "No, I'm feeling a bit peckish after all the fighting. You two go ahead and," he looked back Dawn, "watch your movie." He hung his coat in the closet near the door, and went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for him and Buffy. Visible or not, she'd be hungry after clearing out the nest and being nearly hugged to death by those demons. It'd still be funny, if she hadn't turned invisible because of it.

Twenty minutes later, Buffy descended the stairs, clean and visible. "You look… refreshed," he said, sliding a plate in front of her. She took a huge bite out of her ham sandwich and made a little moan of pleasure.

"God, I was starving," she said stealing a swig out of Spike's bottle of beer and popping a chip into her mouth.

"Thought you might be, pet. I was hungry, and you had it worse'n me."

"Thanks for covering for me with Dawn."

Spike shrugged, "No need getting the Little Bit upset unless it's necessary."

They ate in silence after that, passing the bottle of beer back and forth across the island. When they were done, Spike passed the bottle to Buffy to finish off and loaded their plates into the dishwasher. She swallowed the last of the beer and yawned. "Food, beer… now all I need is sleep."

"Yeah. I could do with a little of that myself. Any big plans for tomorrow?"

"I'm going to the hospital to see Angel in the morning, but I should be back by lunch. You?"

"Depends on if you're still planning to keep me benched."

"We'll see," she said evasively. "You should go with me in the afternoon to visit Angel."

"Peaches would probably consider it more of a kindness if I didn't." Spike tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. _Why the bloody hell doesn't she want me in the rabble? _he wondered.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You two can act like you hate each other, but I don't buy it."

"Hate is an _awfully_ strong word," Spike said slowly, and Buffy's eyes lit up in triumph, "but it might not be strong enough. Ask me in another decade."

She threw her napkin at him, turned on her heel, and flounced out of the room, in mock indignation, her hair flipping behind her like a flag. "_Goodnight_, Spike," she sang behind her, "I'll tell Angel to expect you."

_Bloody hell, I'm benched and being dragged to visit Sir Stake-in-the-Chest,_ Spike thought, _the things we do for love._

**A/N I know this chapter must have been a little slow for the Angel loving sector out there, but the show must go on, even if tall, dark, and broody's in the hospital. I promise to make it up to you soon. From this chapter on, we're catapulting toward the end of this story arc. You may have noticed that we're nowhere near done with the greater issue of the Angel vs. Spike debate... Turn the Hourglass Over is the first story in a series. There are about four chapters left in Turn the Hourglass Over, then the story continues in About Tomorrow. I hope you'll all continue to read, even after the end. I'm very excited about several things on the horizon, not least of which are the side story and the companion piece that AllyPetals has decided to write for this series. As soon as she has them ready, I'll post links to them in the chapters with which they coincide. I hope you'll all read them when they're available.**

**As always, reviews are revered and cherished like sacrificial sacrificy things.  
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	8. Long on Miles

**A/N: Muchas, muchas gracias to The Imperfectionist for being patient enough to correct my grammar. Would you believe that before this, I thought I had a really good handle on the English language? Also, a big 'thanks ever so' to AllyPetals, who had a HUGE hand in making this chapter what it is. She put in a hot of hours brainstorming with me, and breathing life into certain bits; especially on the Dawn and Xander scenes.**

* * *

><p>"If we're short on years, baby we're long on miles."<p>

-Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 7<em>

Buffy hugged the little stuffed bear against her chest, nervous fingers fiddling with its soft fur. She'd seen it in the window of the gift shop, and something about its earnest brown eyes reminded her of Angel, so she ducked into the shop and bought it on a whim. Now she was nervous about giving it to him. Two hundred fifty _was _a little old for a teddy bear.

Her eager hands pushed open the door to his room; she might have been a bit reserved about seeing his reaction to the bear, but she was excited about seeing him again. She walked through the door, expecting to find Angel resting; instead, bed was empty and neatly made.

Adrenaline spiked her system as she rushed into the room. "Oh, god, Angel!" she cried, fearing the worst.

"Buffy!" Angel's voice came from a chair in the corner of the room she'd rushed past in her concern. "What's wrong?" He dropped the book he'd been reading, and he pushed himself up with a grunt. He swayed a little, but managed to stay on his feet. Nearly dying hadn't diminished his protective spark at all, and it flashed in his eyes as they met hers.

"You're alive." Relief was evident in Buffy's voice. Then she continued in an awed tone, "You're alive, _and _you're on your feet..?"

"Well, yeah," Angel replied sheepishly, realizing what Buffy must have thought when she saw the empty bed. "It's more comfortable to read sitting up, and I was a little tired of being flat on my back."

"But, how?"

Angel shrugged. "I don't know, but they've already had about six doctors in here to take a look at me."

Buffy sank onto the bed, absently clutching the bear against her chest. "I thought you might heal more quickly than usual, but I had no idea you'd be regeno-boy. I'm glad, though." Glad was an understatement. With any luck, knowing Angel was really ok would make the nightmares stop, hopefully before she went for a three-peat performance "Me too," Angel admitted. "So, did you make a new friend?" he motioned to the bear.

"What? Oh, I, uh, got this for you." Buffy stood to hold the bear out to him shyly.

Angel smiled as he took the toy. "I never had one of these before."

"They probably didn't exist back when you were a kid, did they?"

"Not exactly." He set the little bear down on the table by the bed. "My sister had a couple of dolls. Real ones, made of porcelain, not the dressed-up pieces of wood the village girls had."

"What about you?" Buffy asked, enjoying the rare trip down memory lane. "What was the precursor to Tonka trucks?"

"Wooden swords," Angel told her simply, which seemed to make Buffy uncomfortable. He guessed it had something to do with the modern idea that children should be sheltered from violence and warfare. "I also had a pony," he told her, trying to salvage the conversation.

"Oh!" She seemed genuinely delighted. "I wanted, one, but so did every girl in the third grade. Was it a fat Shetland pony?"

Angel seemed taken aback. "Of course it wasn't. No self-respecting Irishman would allow such a thing on his property, and if there was one thing my father respected, it was his property. I had a liver chestnut Connemara gelding."

"Was that English at all?"

"Mostly," Angel replied with a half-smile. "So, do you think you could get me out of here?"

Buffy hesitated. "Angel, I don't know… Maybe we should wait and see what the doctors say."

"The doctors say that it's impossible for me to have healed this much over night." He pulled the neck of his gown down to show a well-scabbed and partially healed lesion where there should have been a fresh surgical incision around the stab wound. Buffy couldn't stop herself from reaching out to touch the new pink skin. "I'm still weak," Angel continued, "but I'm not going to die, and it would be good to get out of here before they can make too much of a fuss over me."

Buffy understood that it wasn't his aversion to being taken care of that made him so anxious to leave, and he was right: the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that word would get around to ears that knew what to listen for. "Yeah, we'll insist they discharge you, but we can't just walk out of here. If you disappear, they may send social services to do a wellness checkup, or something."

Angel sank back into his chair, relieved to have won her over so easily. Now, if only _actually _winning her over could be so simple.

* * *

><p>Xander flipped his phone shut, a goofy half-smile on his face. Another lunch invitation from Dawn, and this time he knew that Willow was going for lunch with Giles and Buffy would be at the hospital with Angel. He wasn't exactly sure what it was they were moving towards, but he wasn't in any hurry to rush it, or to rush her.<p>

No, he'd give her time to figure things out, play it cool, and enjoy the slow dance they were doing around one another. She was too young to rush into anything, and at 19, she might not be ready for a real relationship. He was willing to wait until she was, and he'd wait however long it took, because once he had her, he was going to do everything in his power to keep her.

And, hey, if his power didn't have a great track record, it was surely time for karma to step in and give him a little help. Then, he remembered that his last relationship ended when he'd left his fiancé at the altar, and the one before it when he got caught making out with his best friend. _All things considered,_ he decided, _it might be best to leave karma out of it._

He didn't know exactly when his feelings toward Dawn changed, but on her birthday, he'd looked at her across the top of her cake, saw the candlelight playing on her face, and something inside him had changed. _I love her,_ he'd realized. He'd loved her when she was a kid with too-big eyes, and he loved how hard she worked to fight alongside her super-hero sister. This new, romantic thing was just a natural progression of the feelings he'd had for her since she'd come bounding into his life nine years before.

"Only one thing make a man walk around with that kind of goofy grin, brother," Greg, his foreman, commented, sitting down beside him. Greg was a tall, broad man whose shaved head was concealed by the white construction hat he wore. Tattoos spilled out of the customary white-shirt, and he looked every inch the rowdy biker he was, but Xander had known Greg long enough to know that the man had a heart of gold, especially where his niece, Grace, was concerned. He'd been the little girl's guardian since her parents died when she was three, and in the four years he'd taken care of her, he'd never missed a ballet recital, a PTA meeting, or their yearly trip to Disney World. He planned the trip to coincide with the anniversary of her parents' deaths, as much to take his mind of it as hers.

"Nitrous oxide?" Xander deflected the question with his usual humor.

"Too new to brag about?"

"Too new to actually exist yet." Xander rose to his feet as his break ended.

"Man, you got it bad," Greg remarked, walking alongside him back to the worksite.

"You're not wrong, Big Man." Xander told him, swinging his tool belt around his waist.

"Yeah, well, things don't work out, you give her my number. I've seen your taste in women, and they're all gorgeous. Hey," he wondered, "it's not that blond comes around here sometimes, takes you to lunch, is it? 'Cause that one…" he trailed off in a whistle.

"Buffy? No, man, she's lost to guys like us forever. No, you've never met her."

"Shame, that one's off the market. She's something."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Xander agreed. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever date a younger woman?"

"Once or twice. It was a good time, but temporary. I try to stay away from that sort of thing now," he confided in his friend. "They aren't good role models for Gracie, you know? I don't want her to see a never-ending parade of women and think that's how she should behave when she's grown up."

Xander shook his head, "You, my friend, are a paradox among very manly men. I've seen you take on three bouncers with ball bats in a bar fight, and walk away under your own power, but one forty pound little girl has you whipped."

"It's the blond ringlets that do it, man. I've always been a sucker for the blond ones with pretty smiles."

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><p>Buffy walked slowly to accommodate Angel's shuffling gait. He seemed frustrated and embarrassed by his continued weakness, but Buffy assured him he was doing remarkably well for somebody who had been stabbed in the chest only thirty six hours before. Rarely would somebody be taking a stroll through the park, however laborious it might be, at this point.<p>

They left the paved path when they reached a large meadow spotted with people enjoying the sunny day. Buffy pulled the blanket out of the beach bag she'd never quite gotten around to unpacking and settled Angel upon it, handing him the bottle of sunscreen. He rubbed it easily into his arms and over his face and neck, but Buffy did his legs, afraid that stretching would burst something that hadn't fully healed yet. Angel protested weakly, but seemed pleased when she insisted.

"I never thought I'd see you in shorts," Buffy remarked, surveying the clothes she'd bought him so he could leave the hospital dressed in something besides a gown. She'd chosen khaki cargo shorts with a v-necked t-shirt in a dark red. Combined with a pair of Nike's and dark sunglasses, he looked like a graduate student enjoying the day instead of… well, whatever he was exactly.

"I wish I'd had them two days ago." He recounted the story of Jerry-the-tree, laughing at how miserable planting a tree on a hot Miami day in black slacks and a button-down shirt had been.

"Maybe that's why you healed so fast." Buffy pointed out, "Maybe it had something to do with the energy you got back from Jerry. I mean, you said it felt regenerative, right?"

Angel shrugged. "It's as good a theory as any."

Buffy frowned at him. "What aren't you saying?"

"Nothing."

"I've known you entirely too long to fall for that. You're about half an inch from some grade A broody-face. Spill."

Angel glanced at Buffy, trying to gauge his chances of deflecting the question. She was looking at him intently, waiting for an answer, so he guessed the odds were better that he'd be interrupted by a burgeoning apocalypse. In all fairness, though, they were two people for whom apocalypses were fairly commonplace. "I have my doubts about how human I really am."

Buffy goggled at him. "Well, you're at least as human as I am, I hope. That's what I told the troops."

"I've been human before, Buffy. This feels different."

"Yeah, but it was a couple centuries ago. Maybe your memory's a little foggy."

"It hasn't been that long since I was human." Angel's voice was so soft Buffy almost didn't hear it.

"Wait, have you been lying about your age all these years?" Buffy's attempt at levity went unnoticed by Angel, who just shook his head slowly. "Splainy?"

"I was human for a while, in LA."

"Angel, why didn't you tell me? I'd have been there. Unless…" she trailed off uncertainly, "Unless you didn't want me there." It seemed impossible, but she didn't know his life in LA; in fact, she'd gone through great lengths to know as little about it as possible. Every story that had come her way, every reminder that he was living his unlife without her, was a torture she couldn't bear.

_Which time?_ he thought to himself, _the time we had together that you aren't supposed to know about, or the more recent one?_ "I _couldn't_ tell you." He settled on the more recent events that had pushed him to become human again. "We were in hell."

"Wait," Buffy was puzzled, "were you in LA or were you in hell? I know some people think they're one and the same, but I grew up there, so I don't subscribe to that theory."

Angel glanced at her, then shifted his focus to stare into the distance over her shoulder. "The rest is… complex," he told her softly.

"I understand complex, you know. In fact, complicated and me… we're like this." Buffy held up two crossed fingers to illustrate.

Angel smiled at the girlish expression and looked into her eyes. For all she'd aged, physically and emotionally, he still couldn't help but see the little girl he'd fallen in love with. "Pretty close, huh?" he asked her, teasing softly.

"Practically engaged," she agreed. "Now, tell me about LA."

"I was in LA. LA was in hell. The senior partners at Wolfram & Heart were pretty upset with me, so they sent us all into a hell dimension and made me human."

"God, Angel, you never catch a break, do you?"

He laughed dryly, "Not often."

"So, how'd you end up a vampire again?"

"We foiled their plans, so they used a Mulligan. Brought us all back to the moment before we went to hell, but left the memories."

Buffy gave him a puzzled look. "How did Gilligan get you out of a hell dimension." Angel suppressed a half-smile that was so tender it made her chest hurt, just a little. "Not the word you used," she realized, smiling back at him.

"Mulligan. It means do-over."

Buffy thought for a moment about what he'd said, and debated whether or not she should ask for more details. Finally, she decided to press her luck. "Seems like it would be easier for them to kill you if you were human."

Angel looked away and swallowed. "They didn't want me dead. That's why they ended up undoing it all."

She took that in for a moment. The unspoken implication was that he'd been dead, or close to, and that wasn't something she could think about. "So, why aren't you happy to be human?" she pressed him.

"Because it feels like I cheated," he told her, focusing again on something over her shoulder. "I was supposed to _earn_ my humanity. Instead, I took the easy way out."

Buffy took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "Was it really easy, or are you being all drama guy again?"

Angel couldn't help but smile. "You always see me in a better light than I deserve."

She rolled her eyes. "And you never see yourself in any light at all."

"There's so much you don't know, Buffy."

She digested that for a moment. "What I don't know doesn't change what I _do_ know."

Silence played about them, but they both knew the conversation wasn't over. When they'd had a minute to catch their breath, figuratively, Buffy continued. "You didn't become human because you thought I was with the Immortal, did you?" she guessed.

"No. I was crushed at the idea, but I found out you sent Andrew to Italy with a double to gather information on the Immortal long before I made the decision. I _have_ been going out of my head this last year, though. Keeping tabs on Sunnydale from LA helped keep me sane, and not knowing what you were up to…" He looked back at her, promising himself he'd be strong enough to not look away this time. "It was a big part of what made last year impossible. I didn't lie about that."

"So why, then?"

"There was a prophesy. A souled vampire would tip the balance of The Apocalypse one way or the other and would be rewarded by being made human."

"You?"

"I was the only possible candidate, until Spike went and got a soul," he thought back to the fight between them. "He wanted it more than I did, and I didn't think it was possible."

"So, the prophecy is about _Spike_?" She knew he was steadfast, but it was easier to imagine the balance of The Big One resting on Angel's broad shoulders and deliberate actions than Spike's love of action and violence.

"No. The Senior Partners showed me The End, and I wasn't fighting on the side of good."

"They freed Angelus? How?"

"Not Angelus. Me." Angel's words were simple, but they fell, heavy, into the air.

Buffy wanted to assure him that it couldn't be true, that it was a preposterous idea, but she could see from the pain in his eyes that he believed it. Instead, she reached out and took his hand. He looked down, and his mouth curved into a smile as he laced their fingers together. "Whatever they showed you, Angel, you didn't get the whole story. You can't beat yourself up over a questionable vision courtesy of the bad guys, because you can bet they weren't being straight with you. In fact, it's the only part you can be sure of."

Angel thought over her words, and idly ran his thumb across their still-joined hands. Something caught his attention, and he looked down to see a simple gold band glinting in the sunlight. He didn't speak, but raised her hand with a questioning look.

Buffy pulled her hand back and blushed. She fidgeted with the ring on her fourth finger and tried to explain in an embarrassed voice, "Well, we were supposed to be married, and I thought it would be more convincing if we had the, um… props." She fumbled in her bag for a moment, and produced a second, larger ring. "I bought one for you, too. If anybody asked why we didn't have them before, I was just going to say that yours was in the shop being repaired."

"I'm impressed with your attention for detail." He held out his hand for the ring. Buffy placed it in his hand, and he looked at it solemnly before he slid it onto his finger. "It fits."

Buffy's throat closed a little at the sight of him wearing a wedding ring, even if the promise it symbolized wasn't real. It was something she'd dreamed of for so long, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it now. Her mind scrabbled for a way to change the subject, and she remembered the manila envelope bearing Angel's name that was waiting on the counter when she went for her morning coffee.

She reached into her purse, and handed the envelope to Angel, who poured its contents onto the blanket. He sifted through the ID, and credit cards, putting them in the wallet that he'd had in his pocket the night of the fight. He'd only ever used it to carry cash before, and it seemed strange to have such human things. The passport he asked Buffy to carry in her purse for safekeeping. Then he noticed the remaining folded piece of white paper. When he opened it, his expression must have changed because Buffy plucked it from his fingers.

"Is this real?" she asked, her voice shaking as she examined it.

"Not unless you remember something I don't."

"It looks real."

"Yeah. It does." He gathered his courage, heart pounding, before he continued. "It could be, one day. If you wanted."

Buffy trembled at the thought. How many nights had she dreamed of a long life with Angel, one where he was human. There had been years when she'd dreamed of nothing else. "Angel-"

He cut her off, with a gentle finger pressed to her lips. His eyes searched hers and found the love he was afraid he'd lost. "I just wanted you to know."

Buffy wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees, and wondered what would happen if Angel ever stopped being a gentleman. She wasn't sure where that moment would have taken them, but she'd have gone there willingly, consequences be damned.

With a deep sigh that sounded more exhausted than pensive, Angel lay back on the blanket and closed his eyes. Buffy watched the sun play upon his features, creating shadows in the hollow of his cheeks. She kept feeling the niggling sensation of déjà vu, but couldn't quite place its origin. Angel shifted slightly, and an almost blinding burst of light was reflected from the pale flesh of his prominent brow. _That's_ it, Buffy thought as she laughed aloud.

Angel brought a hand up to shade his eyes and looked at the laughing Slayer. "What?" he asked her in confusion.

Her laughter ratcheted up a notch, and tears streamed down her face. "It's just so… _ridiculous_," she gasped.

"What is?" he asked impatiently.

"Meadow, sunshine, undying love… _vampire_," she snorted. "It's just like that stupid book."

"Should I know what you're talking about?" he teased her, trying to keep a smile off his face at the undying love bit. It was nice to know he was still in the running.

"Truthfully, I'm kind of glad you don't. It's hideous."

"So how do _you_ know about it?"

"_Some_ of us keep up with pop culture, you know. Besides, a book about a girl falling in love with a vampire? I kind of had to, on principle."

"So, what's so funny about it? Stranger things have happened, you know?" he teased, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his arm.

"Well, the vampire in question was a nearly-indestructible telepathic teenager who sparkled in the sunlight, made straight A's, and never slept."

"It does sound a little too good to be true."

"Nah, my vampire was better, but come to think of it…" Buffy held her hands up with her first fingers and thumbs in a classic 'L' shape, thumbs touching: the caricature of a Hollywood director. "Dark spiky hair, pale skin, heavy brow, broody… Saves girls in dark alleys… Huh. Maybe she got a little closer to the real thing than I gave her credit for."

"Wait, you don't think…"

Buffy shrugged. "You get a name out of every girl you save in a dark alley?"

"Not even close. I get a lot of propositions, but not so many names."

"And they say romance is dead."

Angel stretched out again, and Buffy thought he might actually doze off this time so she rummaged in her bag for a magazine. As his breathing began to deepen, her fingers absently found their way to his hair, and she ran her fingers through it, enjoying the texture beneath her fingers.

When she was almost halfway through her tabloid, she jumped at a low rumbling noise that seemed close. She looked around, and jarred by her movements, Angel sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, groggily.

"I thought I heard something," she told him, then paused when she heard it again. "Wait, is that your _stomach_?"

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "I guess it is."

"Slaying and nursing are two unmixy things, at least where I'm concerned. I didn't mean to starve you to death."

"I don't think it's quite that dire." Angel's stomach rumbled again. "Yet."

"You want me to grab some dogs and bring 'em back, or do you want to go somewhere?"

"Go somewhere," Angel told her firmly, rising to his feet, already less shaky than he'd been leaving the hospital. "I'm getting stiff just laying here." He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen them.

Buffy gathered their blanket and the envelope, stuffing them into the bag. "Watch the stretching, mister," she chided him. "I'm still not convinced you won't pop something and-" she really was having trouble, she noticed, saying anything that had to do with that night. Maybe she was the Slayer who needed therapy, not Tuesday.

"I'm not going to die, Buffy. Not today."

"But, you will. Someday."

He placed gentle finger under her chin and tilted her eyes up to his. "Don't be sad about that, Buffy. You know what's on the other side, and I have a shot at that now."

"I didn't know if I'd make it when you died, and I don't want to go through it again. Not until we're both really old and decrepit."

"I can sympathize," he reminded her.

"Could I see?" Buffy motioned to Angel's shirt. After taking a quick glance around to make sure nobody was looking, he raised his shirt.

"You could have just pulled down the collar, but no, you couldn't pass up the chance to show off, could you?"

Angel raised his eyebrows and started to lower his shirt.

"I didn't say I was complaining, did I?" she pushed it back up teasingly, running her fingers across what used to be a mortal wound. It looked at least two thirds of the way healed. "I just can't believe this," she told him wonderingly. "It's a miracle, Angel. I don't care what you think. This is all kinds of a good thing."

Angel smiled, and lowered his shirt, hiding the injury, along with the view Buffy'd been enjoying. "I'm glad you think so."

"So, food. How do you feel about enchiladas? Or we could do jerked chicken. Do you like spicy?"

"I think I have more of a sweet tooth, but let's try this spicy thing."

"I'm being Decision Girl and going with the jerked chicken. You probably need protein to help with all the healing. In fact, you probably need as many calories as you can shove down your throat at the rate you're healing, so there's something sinfully sweet in your near future." Buffy linked her arm through his, and led him back up the path to their car.

"Can it be something with chocolate and peanut butter? I really like those two."

"Me, too."

"I know. It's just another one of those things we have in common."

* * *

><p>It was lunchtime, and while Spike wasn't sad at the prospect of not visiting Captain Wanker in the hospital, he was starting to worry that Buffy hadn't come back from her visit yet. He'd noticed The Envelope was missing, and it was only a matter of time before they got around to the piece of paper. For all he knew, they could be making it official right bloody now.<p>

He'd been in the garage gym for an hour now, trying to beat the sand out of the punching bag. The idea of taping a picture of Angel to it had occurred to him, but he decided that the enjoyment he'd get out of pummeling it would be offset by the potential pissed-offness of the Slayer. When he noticed little flowers of red seeping through the protective bandages, he took a few more swings for good measure, and called it a day. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought to wrap his hands before he'd already beaten most of the skin off his knuckles. This human flesh was too easily damaged.

He looked around the gym for something else he could throw is energy into. Most of the equipment was Buffy's, and meant primarily for speed and agility training, though she did have a few areas designated for weapons practice. On the far side of the industrial-grade jail cell they kept for the occasional werewolf, he found a dusty bowflex. Without taking the time to wipe it off, he threw himself onto the bench, and began to do what passed for bench presses of the machine.

Forty-five minutes later, he was filthy, sweaty, and bloody, but not one second had gone by that he hadn't thought about Buffy. More to the point, Buffy playing Florence bloody Nightingale to his least favorite person in the world. Maybe, he corrected himself, his second least favorite. It all depended on how badly Xander'd irritated him on a given day.

"You're kind of disgusting, you know." Dawn's voice took him by surprise. "You should definitely take a shower before Buffy gets here."

"She on her way, then?" Spike asked coolly, lighting a cigarette. He supposed he'd have to consider quitting, now he'd saddled himself with a mortal coil.

"Bound to be sooner or later. You wanna take a chance of her seeing you all covered in _ick_, be my guest." She turned to the door, but paused with her hand on the knob. "But, if you wanna sit down and at eat at my table, you'd better scrape the grime off yourself in the next twenty minutes."

"Harris sitting in on the meal, then?"

She stiffened. "Yeah, I think he might be coming."

"Watch yourself, Bit," he cautioned her, "that's a messy situation you're walking into."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she bluffed, stomping out of the garage.

Spike considered her retreating form with narrowed eyes. "No, love, I reckon you don't." He stubbed out his cigarette and followed, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>"That was amazing," Angel told her, gulping down soda to cool his mouth. The plate of jerked chicken with a side of rice and peas in front of him looked like it had been attacked by a pack of badgers. The bones were picked clean and only a few scattered pieces of rice too small to fit on the fork were left.<p>

"And the best part is that all the spicy food makes the dessert even sweeter." Buffy's own plate was clean, but in a more polite sort of way. She'd enjoyed watching Angel dive into his meal even more than she'd enjoyed her own food.

Angel sighed in bliss and closed his eyes, doing his best to stretch out at the cramped booth inside the mom and pop Jamaican diner. It was a tiny place with only a couple of booths against the plate-glass window at the front and a few stools against the counter that separated the dining area from the open kitchen. The restaurant was sparsely decorated with a large wooden cross on one of the side walls and a Jamaican flag on the other, but it was ferociously clean.

"Angel?"

"Yeah?" he answered without opening his eyes.

"I'm really sorry about the other night." Buffy traced circles on the tabletop with the condensation streaming down her glass.

"I might have overreacted a little," he conceded. "But the abstract knowledge that there was a you and Spike and coming face-to-face with the reality of it were two very different things."

"It wasn't what-"

"Buffy, you don't owe me an explanation." His eyes opened, and were sad when they looked at her.

"No, but I want you to understand that I'm not with him, at least not anymore than I'm with you."

"Does this mean I have something to look forward to on the way home?" It was cattier than he really liked to be, but he was only human, after all.

"No," Buffy fixed him with a glare. "_Almost_ dying doesn't buy a one-time pass on the rules. _Actually_ dying and being gone for over a year gets you a little more leeway. And, no, you're not allowed to test that theory."

"No worries there. I'm not anxious to go through that again." Angel shuddered. "Now, did you promise me something with chocolate and peanut butter or not?" he asked, rising and holding a hand out to help her up.

"Feeling spry?" she looked at his hand dubiously.

"Not particularly. It's more of a gentlemanly offer than a working one. Just don't pull too hard, and neither one of us will be embarrassed."

Buffy laughed, taking the proffered hand and rising. She linked her arm through his and led him back into the bright sunshine. A short walk led them to an ice cream shop, where she firmly placed him in a seat. "You wait here. I'm going to come back with the best thing you've ever tasted."

Angel watched her walk away, toward the counter, appreciating the view. When she reached the counter, she turned to the lady mixing the ice cream, presenting him with her profile. Buffy smiled brilliantly at the woman behind the counter, making small talk. There was something ethereal and lovely about her; it clung to her like a cloud of perfume, almost as though heaven still clung to her skin. When she moved down to the cash register, she stepped into a pool of sunlight from an overhead skylight, and her brilliance nearly blinded him, like a flower to flame.

Without giving himself the chance to talk himself out of the impulse, he rose and closed the distance between them with a few long strides. In one swift motion, he turned her into his arms, cradling her head in one of his large hands, and brought his mouth down upon hers.

Buffy's left arm went around his neck, while her right hand rested upon his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her palm. The kiss was slow and thorough, setting her on fire and leaving her breathless. She remembered what it was like to be sixteen and positive that the man whose arms held her so carefully was her soul mate. The sensation did something else entirely to her adult body, and by the time the kiss broke she was practically shaking.

"I, uh, I'll just go sit back down," Angel said, to her, motioning to the seat he'd vacated. His expression was somewhere between shy and smug, and when he looked back at her over his shoulder, his eyes smoldered into hers so that her breath caught.

"How long have you been married?" the woman asked her with a knowing smile, handing Buffy her change and the ice cream.

"Huh?" Buffy looked at her blankly, then realized that neither she nor Angel had remembered to remove their rings. "Oh, not long. Seems like just yesterday."

"Well, congratulations. For what it's worth, I think you'll make each other happy for a long time." She gave Buffy a last smile, and turned to the kids that had just walked in.

Angel was elated and worried. When that sunlight had hit her, he was taken back to their lost time together shortly after he'd gone to LA, and the memory of kissing her on the Santa Monica boardwalk with the sun beating down on them both. He couldn't tell her about that day, but he needed to recreate just that much of it, so that both of them knew the feeling of their human bodies pressed together, warm and fitting just so. Being the only one to remember something wonderful was a lonely business. But that kiss, surely it had meant as much to her as it did him? It was proof to him that his soul was there and it was whole; he felt every corner of it when they were together.

Buffy rejoined him at their table, offering him a giant waffle cone full stuffed with several scoops of chocolate ice cream with chunks of something inside it. Her own simple dish looked demure compared to the one she gave him. "What _is_ this?" he asked her, wondering how he was supposed to finish it.

"Double scoop of chocolate ice cream with peanut butter cups in a chocolate dipped waffle cone with sprinkles. Try it."

His memory of the last time they ate ice cream, he decided, really hadn't done it justice. That, or the ice cream they'd had before had been inferior to this stuff. Of course, it had the benefit of having been consumed naked in each other's arms. "Wow," he told her through a mouth full of the cold dessert. "This really might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"Yeah, well, you'd better enjoy that cone, 'cause when you aren't metabolizing twenty thousand calories a day to regenerate new tissue, that'll be a thing of the past."

Angel looked crushed, "You mean, I have to live with the knowledge that this is out there, but I can't have it?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "No, you just can't eat double scoops in candy and chocolate encrusted cones. We go with the more sensible single scoop in a dish." Buffy held up her own dessert.

"That's a relief. I'm not sure if I'll be able to finish this anyway."

"Don't be modest. This is the one time you get to eat whatever you want, and nobody can judge. Except Spike. He'll judge. Don't eat that in front of him." Buffy cautioned him.

"Good idea."

"So, uh, what was that?" Buffy studied her ice cream intently. "Back there."

Angel paused, choosing his words carefully, "Something I've dreamed of doing for a long time."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Belonging to your world, holding you in the sunlight, feeling our hearts beat together. There's so much to it, and not all of it has words, Buffy."

"Did you get it out of your system?"

"Not even close, but I won't do it again until you tell me to." Angel tipped her chin up so that she had to look at him. "I'm not sorry for kissing you, but I am sorry that you're in a hard position, and I promise not to make it worse."

"I'm not sorry for it, either, but it can't happen again, Angel. Not until I've figured things out."

"You have my word, Buffy." The two enjoyed their ice cream in silence, but their thoughts kept coming back to that kiss, and it wasn't long before they were darting furtive glances at one another and giggling like teenagers.

"So, what did the woman behind the counter say to you before she gave you the ice cream?"

Buffy blushed deeply, "She, uh, asked how long we'd been married." Angel looked at her questioningly, and Buffy raised the hand wearing the ring.

"Oh, I guess we sort of forgot to, uh…" Angel blushed a little, too, something Buffy had never even considered before.

"Guess so."

"Kind of late to do it now," he pointed out reasonably.

"Long as we remember before we get home, it'll be ok," Buffy agreed, logically.

Angel thought about the hell Buffy would have to deal with if they forgot, and vowed to himself not to let that happen. It didn't matter who noticed the rings first, it would be just one varying degree of bad or another, and the grief would be for nothing, despite the sentimentality they were both feeling right now.

* * *

><p>Spike made certain that he was closest to the door when Xander knocked. The look on Xander's face when Spike reached out and plucked the modest arrangement of flowers from his hand was the best thing about an otherwise miserable day.<p>

"Why, Xander," Spike trilled in a singsong voice, "you shouldn't have. They're just lovely."

"Spike. What the hell are you doing here?"

"_I_ live here. What the hell are _you_ doing here, with flowers no less."

"They're for Dawn, to say thank you for making lunch."

"You say 'thanks ever so' to say thank you for lunch. Flowers say something else entirely, and even _you_ understand that. What the hell are you playing at, Harris? Can't have the Summers girl you want, so you'll settle for the sister instead?"

"You're disgusting, Spike." Xander tried to sidestep the blond man, but Spike put out a hand and held him fast.

"She's too young for you," Spike told him tweaking the elastic of his eyepatch, so that it smacked him in the back of the head with a little 'pop'.

"That's rich coming from you. Buffy's too young for your great-great-grandson."

"I'm not talking about age, and you bloody well know it. Bit's been half in love with you since she was a mite, and she's not much more than that now. Not in the ways that matter." Spike pushed the flowers back into the younger man's hands.

"Xander! You made it!" Dawn's excited voice came from the kitchen. In just a moment, she had hurled herself into Xander's arms for a fast hug. "You brought flowers! Are they for me or Buffy?"

"They're for you, Dawnie. You know, to say thanks for all the lunches." His voice was a little rough. He put on a good face, but the niggling voice in his head had just taken on an irritating British accent.

Dawn squealed in delight with her trademark enthusiasm. "They're beautiful! I made taco salad and fresh guacamole."

"Sounds good. Where'd you get the guacamole recipe?" Xander asked nervously.

"Back of a box of French onion dip. They're pretty much the same, you just use avocado instead of sour cream, right?"

"Depends on what you're trying to make," Xander told her, sidestepping the question, and preparing himself for what was sure to be another food-related Dawn catastrophe. At the least the taco salad would probably be reasonably safe.

Xander followed Dawn into the kitchen, uncomfortably aware that Spike was aware of how aware he was of the swish of her hips. He was so distracted by the convoluted train of thought, that when Dawn turned suddenly to present him with the questionable guacamole, he nearly ended up wearing it, earning a snort from Spike.

All things considered, wearing the guac may have been preferable to trying to eat it.

"Here," she said, shoving a bag of tortilla chips into his hand, proudly. With a sick look, he dipped the chip into the dip, while Spike moved around to the counter for a better view. Xander took the bag, but brightened considerably when he offered them to Spike.

"Spike should go first, give him the chance to enjoy the goodness that is garlic, now that he's not lethally allergic to it."

"No, thanks," he demurred, in his signature obnoxious tone. "Garlic is for people who don't figure on kissing anybody, and I like to take advantage when the option presents itself." He cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

Dawn blinked, and dropped the bowl with a clatter.

"Oh, thank Merciful Zeus," Xander said under his breath.

"What?" Dawn whirled to glare at him.

"I said, 'Geez, Spike, watch what you're doing'."

"Sorry, Bit," Spike said, not sounding a bit contrite, "I don't know what I was thinking."

Dawn was gratified to see the glare that Xander was aiming at Spike on her behalf, but she missed the schoolyard kissing faces Spike made behind her back. Abruptly the gestures took a turn for the dark when Spike made the unmistakable 'I'll be watching you' gesture of pointing to his eyes, then Xander, and drawing a finger across his throat.

Xander tried not to shudder. Chip, soul, or human flesh; Spike gave him a serious case of the wig. "So, how 'bout that table, with the seats?"

"Yeah, let's sit down," Dawn agreed, blithely unaware of the tension between the two men.

"So, Xander," Spike asked, waiting until the other man was taking a drink of his tea. "How's your love life? Ever manage to get laid?"

Xander choked on his drink, then sprayed the rest of it onto the table. "Of course I've-" He saw Dawn looking down at her plate, blushing deeply. "I mean, none of your business, Spike."

"Remember that time I kidnapped you and Red?" He looked at Dawn, recounting the story, in case it was one of the ones the monks missed. "Wanted her to cast a love spell 'pon Dru, but I changed my mind."

"Really?" she asked, interested. She'd always liked that Spike didn't try to shield her from the dark stuff. "What happened?"

"Well, I left to find Red's book, your mum made me some cocoa, and big sis nearly staked me in the kitchen," Spike remembered, with a smile. "Then, she, Peaches, and I went on a supply run, got hassled by half the vampires in the city, and we had a jolly good fight. I might even have made a stirring speech. I left town right after, so I missed the most exciting parts, I heard."

"Yeah, that's when Cordy fell and ended up in the hospital that time." Xander jumped in quickly, before Spike could finish the tale in his own way.

"Oh, I remember that! I didn't know about the other stuff, though."

"'Spect there's plenty went on about then they didn't tell you about, Platelet. Not the sort of thing one tells their little sister, is it?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Don't even get me started on all the things they tried to keep from me. Jerks." She leveled a glare at Xander.

"Yeah, but that stuff was nightmare fuel. High octane. We were trying to keep you from having to think about it all the time," Xander protested.

"I thought about it all the time anyway, and I promise, my imagination came up with way worse things than you'd have told me. Well, up to Glory, at least."

An uneasy silence fell across the table. The fight against Glory was something none of them liked to think about. Those had been dark days, from Joyce's death to Buffy's, and even having Buffy back had never made them able to look back on them more comfortably.

"How'd things go with the nest?" Dawn asked, more interested in breaking the silence than hearing about the fight.

"Junior handled herself real good," Spike commended her. "Took a neck wound, and wasn't out more than half a minute. 'Course, that half minute could get a girl killed, but I don't think she'll falter again. First time you're wounded in the thick of it's the worst. Witch Junior's creative, but doesn't have any real mojo. Need to get Red to do something about that, I reckon. She's good in a fight, and she's got a taste of it now. Keeping her in a library's a waste."

"How'd Buffy do?" Dawn asked him.

Spike shrugged. "Slayer's always good in a fight. Never hated watching her work."

"Good," Dawn smiled. "She's been out of the field a while, so I was worried she might be a little rusty, but I guess it's like riding a bicycle."

"Yeah," Spike glanced at Xander, who was wearing a hangdog expression of guilt, "not the sort of thing you forget how to do, I suppose."

"I'm just glad that raid was no big. I was kind of worried."

"I wouldn't say it was no big. There were half again as many vampires as we expected in the basement, and it got a little closer than I like to play it. But, we all walked away with only minor injuries, and that's what you have to keep in mind."

Dawn smiled again at Spike, and gestured with a heavily-laden nacho chip. "Buffy would never tell me that, even now. I just want to be kept in the loop. Is that so much to ask? They could all take lessons from you."

"I suspect that's what you always liked about me."

The double meaning wasn't lost on Xander. "Hey, she liked me first!"

"I beg to differ," Spike stated, indignantly, wondering if Xander would be rash enough to play into his trap.

"Dawn had a crush on me when she was 10!"

_Hook, line, and sinker_, Spike thought. "Well she had one on me when she was fourteen, which, if you're keeping track was the first year she existed. I was her first _real_ crush. You're just memories implanted by a bunch of panty-waists in brown robes."

"There was at least a little time before she met you that she had a crush on me. Dawn's loved me longer," Xander insisted, missing the look of horror on Dawn's face.

"Oh. My. God," she said to nobody in particular, standing. "We are not having this conversation."

"Dawn," Xander pushed, "tell him you've loved me longer."

"Loved? Right now I don't know why I didn't hate you!" Dawn shrieked, while Spike smirked in satisfaction. "You aren't even supposed to know about that stuff!"

"But, Dawnie-" Xander tried to placate her.

"Don't you 'but, Dawnie' me!" she threw her plate into the sink with a clatter that was nearly a shatter. "I'm not talking to you right now. And you," she whirled on Spike, a blur of auburn hair and sparking blue eyes, "sitting there all smug. Making Xander look like an idiot doesn't exactly take Evil Chessmaster-type mental prowess, but there you are like a freaking spider! You just get stuff started and sit back to watch the show."

"Now, let's have some perspective, Platelet," Spike said. "I didn't bring up the stuff in your diary about Pea –" He broke off to duck the glass Dawn hurled at his head.

"Oh, my god, is _nothing_ sacred?" She stormed out of the kitchen.

"I was a vampire!" Spike gave her a few paces' head start before he went after her. "Evil, remember?"

He stopped short at the sight of Buffy and Angel standing in the living room, the latter wearing a smirk that the former couldn't see. "Surprise, we're ho-" she started to say, but Dawn interrupted.

"Girl talk, upstairs, now. You," the finger she pointed at Angel shook with fury, "bring ice cream in ten minutes, or you're on my list, too."

"Dawn go nuclear again?" Angel asked quietly, watching the retreating figures.

"Yeah, but not before she tried to poison me with the guacamole."

"I knew there was something about that girl I liked."

"Hey, the poison was meant for Harris."

"I knew there was something about that girl I _really_ liked. What set her off?"

"I said your name, mate, and she threw a glass at me." Spike shrugged, going back to the kitchen to clean the broken glass, "Don't know what you did, but I'd steer clear a while. Now, what do you say we go make Harris even more miserable than he is right now?"

"How are we going to do that?" Angel asked him, following.

"Way I figure it, you walking in there ought to just about do the trick." Spike told him. "Makes a fellow wish for a camera."

* * *

><p>It was several minutes before Dawn calmed down enough to recount the disastrous lunch conversation to her sister, and every so often, her hands still twitched for something to vent her frustration upon. Luckily, Buffy had discreetly moved the breakable items while Dawn stalked the length of the room.<p>

By the time Angel tapped at the door, she was sulking on the bed. Buffy took the ice cream and mouthed 'thank you,' afraid to disturb the fragile peace in the room. He smiled and mouthed by 'you're welcome' and reached up to pull a strand of her hair between his fingers before he left. She watched his retreating back with a giant grin spread across her face, glad that Dawn's back was turned, so she couldn't see it.

"Oh, please, who do you think you're fooling?" Dawn snorted as Buffy closed the door softly. "I can practically smell the giddy on you. You think just because I'm mad at two thirds of the men in this house I'm blind?"

"I don't think your eyes have anything to do with your bizarre ability to sniff out what I'm doing when nobody's looking," Buffy replied, settling on the bed and handing her sister the carton and a spoon.

"So, what's going on with that whole situation?" Dawn asked, shoveling her spoon into her mouth. "Distract me."

Buffy hesitated, "I don't know, Dawnie. I-"

"I can't _believe _Xander tried to get me to side with him in an argument about who I had a crush on when I was a kid!" Dawn interrupted with a snarl.

"You know Xander," Buffy tried to comfort her, "open mouth, insert every shoe in the house, and a couple of the neighbors'. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"And, Spike! He engineered that conversation, like it would stop me from-" Dawn cut herself off with another heaping spoon of Rocky Road.

"Stop you whating?" Buffy asked, realizing there were pieces here she hadn't noticed.

"Nothing," Dawn mumbled through her mouthful.

"Dawn!" Buffy exclaimed, eyes, wide. "Are you making a play for Xander?"

"No!" Buffy knew she was lying from the deep blush that crept up from her collar. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for her sister to change her answer. "Maybe," she continued sullenly. "I don't know what we're doing, Buffy. It's not that there's nothing there, but… I don't know what he's waiting for."

"Dawn!" Buffy groaned. "You can't get involved with Xander."

"Why not? I thought you liked Xander." Dawn folder her arms across her chest.

"I love Xander. You know that. But, Dawnie, he's too old for you. You aren't ready for the drama that is dating an older man."

"Your measure older by centuries," Dawn flared. "How would you know anything about what's between me and Xander?"

"First of all: completely uncalled for. Next of all: I thought you put that whole crushing on Xander thing away a long time ago." Buffy ground her teeth in frustration.

"It's not a crush! It's different, this time it's both of us."

"They why hasn't he made a move?" she hated that she sounded cruel, but she just had to make Dawn see reason.

"Probably because he doesn't want to piss you off!" Dawn shot back.

"Oh, no you don't. You are _not_ laying this one off on me." Buffy announced. "Now eat your ice cream."

Dawn stirred the melting mass, but didn't eat. "It's not like I asked for this, you know."

"What?"

"To fall in love with a guy who's older, more experienced, and was in love with my superhero big sister for at least half a decade. It's scary, and I'd change it if I could." Dawn wrung her long hair between two hands.

Buffy sighed, and reached out to put a comforting arm around her sister. "But we don't get to choose, do we?"

Dawn shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Just don't say anything to him, will you? I'd never be able to look him in the eyes again."

"I won't, Dawnie. I promise I'll stay out of it." A thought occurred to her. "Guilt cookies!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Dawn wiped away her tears."

"Xander wouldn't read his fortune to me the other day at the hospital. It was something about a lover, and he must have been all guilty conscious guy to have skipped it."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "That probably makes sense on Planet Slayer, but here on Earth… I've got no clue." Buffy pushed her sister playfully and the two laughed before Dawn continued in a softer voice, "So what _are_ you going to do about your situation, Buffy?"

"I really don't know. Can I say something really terrible, and not be judged here?"

"Sure. I might make fun, but I won't judge."

"I resent having to choose, but not for the reason everybody thinks. I mean, I don't want to hurt either of them, but I would. If I knew what to do, I'd do it and be done." Buffy looked at their reflection in the dresser mirror across from them. "But, I don't want to choose, because I feel like they're _both_ mine."

"Can I just say, kinky?" Dawn asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Dawn…"

"Ok, ok." She thought for a moment, "You're right. They're yours, and if you walked out there and said you wanted them both, they'd do it. They'd hate it, and probably spend every moment you weren't around trying to come up with inventive ways to torture one another, but they'd do it. For you. The question is: Is that what you want?"

"Sometimes. When I'm not alone with one or the other."

"What's it like? When you're alone with them, I mean?"

"With Spike, it's easy, and fun, and _hot_. I can count on him to be by my side until the end of the earth. With Angel, it's so… big."

"I don't need _those_ kinds of details, Buffy."

"Not that!" Buffy swatted her arm. "The feeling, you crazy. It's like the thing between us fills up every bit of the space in the room, and all I want is to spend every second of my already freakishly long by Slayer standards life with him."

"But?"

"But, I keep waiting for the next thing that's going to come along and keep us apart. I don't love Spike the way I love Angel, and I probably never will, but sometimes I think the trade is worth it."

"So, you're willing to settle for less because it's a sure thing?"

"It's not exactly settling. I feel things for Spike that I never did for Angel. There's passion and excitement, and there's something else… It's like with Spike he'll walk next to me when I need him to, and a step behind when I need that and let me be the hero. Angel's kind of opposite."

"Angel's a hero in his own right."

"So's Spike," Buffy snapped. "Remember the Sunnydale Hellmouth? Remember how it's not there because of Spike?"

"Hey, don't act like I wasn't there. I mourned him, too, remember? I just meant that Angel's devoted his life to fighting evil, just like you, and he's used to being the leader, just like you. He's pig-headed, and sure he's right no matter what evidence points to the contrary… You guessed it, just like you. If you two ever figured out how to get in step you'd be unstoppable, but mostly you just pull in opposite directions, except when you're mooning over each other or sucking face."

"When did you get to be so smart?" Buffy smiled at her sister.

"Somewhere between the first and second seasons of Dr. Phil."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes ago, Xander was positive that his lunch break couldn't possibly get any worse. Then, Buffy walked through the door with Dead Boy the Senior, and scuttled upstairs to try and smooth things over with Dawn.<p>

Of course, he didn't quite realize what was going on until Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dead had come walking into the kitchen while he was cleaning up the glass Dawn broke. The smile that spread over his face remembering her hurling it at Spike's head dissipated as he glowered at the two men.

"Careful, mate," Spike told him, cheekily. "You squeeze that glass much harder, and have a great bloody gash. Dawn's only one in the house knows how to sew something like that up, and mad as she is, she might do something rash."

"You're not old enough to appreciate this, but an old word of wisdom: Don't make an enemy of the lady with the needle," Angel told him, conversationally. "Used to be words to live by; if you made the women folk mad, you'd have too short sleeves on your shirts or knotted up toes in your socks that left blisters, or-"

"Hands like Frankenstein's monster," Spike supplied.

"Yeah, that, too."

"There are so many snarky things I would like to say to that, and yet I find myself _not_ wanting to talk to you even more." Xander threw the glass shards in the trash can. "So, is the mutant healing factor part of the used to be a mass-murdering demon package, or is it just you?" he asked Angel.

Angel shrugged. "I don't have answers, Xander. I'm just glad to be alive."

Spike held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. "'Fraid it's part of the package. I had a gash like the one you nearly gave yourself. Dawn stitched it up nice and tight, but by morning, it was healed. Itched like hell until I managed to dig the sutures out of it."

"Well, as much fun as this little reunion has been," Xander told them, heading toward the door, "I have a job to get back to. If Dawn comes down, tell her I'll be back after work." He opened the door and paused, looking out into the sunny day. "I'm glad you didn't die," he told Angel. "It would have been hard for Buffy. She hasn't had much to smile about this past year or so. If you- either of you- can change that, I'll try to keep my dislike to a minimum." He left before he could see the former vampires staring after him with identical expressions of shock.

"Did Xander Harris just give us his blessing?" Angel asked staring at the spot he'd been standing.

"Pretty sure he did." Spike looked at the same spot.

"I'm really dead, aren't I? The park, the food, the kiss. That was all some sort of near-death hallucination, wasn't it?"

"You kissed Buffy?" Spike asked, conversationally.

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

"Well, our kiss was better," Angel said, certainly.

"I have my doubts, Peaches." They sounded more like men arguing over which baseball team had the better pitcher than jealous rivals.

"It was romantic. Not the sort of kiss you walk away from. Yours was in a car."

"One of them was, yeah." Spike told him smugly. Neither man had looked at the one standing next to him.

"One? How many times did you kiss her?"

"A gentleman never tells."

"Yeah, so how many times?" Angel pressed, then reconsidered. "You know, what, don't answer that. It doesn't matter. If you do it right, all you need is one." Spike punched him in the arm. "Oof," Angel grunted, "don't hit me. I'm still injured, you know."

"Or you'll what?"

"Tell Buffy, for starters," Angel smiled. "She's very protective right now."

"Wanker."

"I try."

**A/N: Another very long chapter, and I'm becoming notorious for them, I know. I'd break them down into more palatable chapters, except I can never find a really good place to split them. I'm excited to finally be counting down to the end of Turn the Hourglass Over. I can't imagine how satisfying it'll be to check that 'completed' box when I'm done. Don't forget that this is only part one of (at least) a three part series, and that the sequel, About Tomorrow, will start publishing a few weeks after this one wraps.**

**Remember that reviewing is as easy as clicking the link right below this and telling me what you think, even if you have some criticism for the story, hopefully of the constructive variety. Last week's chapters got some really great reviews, and I cannot stress enough how much it made my day to find out that there are people out there who feel a connection to my story. Also, when you leave a review, I tend to check out your profile, and if you've written for a fandom I follow, chances are I've read some your work and returned the favor. I'm doubly thankful, because I've read some really good stuff I wouldn't have seen otherwise.**


	9. Do Anything for You

**A/N: Sorry this one is a couple of days late. I haven't been near my computer since about this time last week. In addition, the next chapter might be a few days late as well. I'm a little behind, and The Imperfectionist is living the dream, backpacking around Europe, and I can't guarantee I'll have the next chapter back from the beta in time. Of course, I might be persuaded to post an as-is version, then replace it with the proofed one, if people are really interested. **

**Thanks to those of you who keep reading and reviewing. I really cannot tell you what it means to me every time I get an alert from fanfiction (dot) net that I have a new review or that somebody has added me to a list. You rock, and it's that positive reinforcement that keeps me sitting here banging away on this story. And, somewhere, Xander just wept at my poor choice of words, but Spike smirked, so I'm ok with that.  
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**The Imperfectionist deserves even more credit than usual for this chapter for suggesting a couple of very nice improvements, and AllyPetals deserves additional credit for spewing apple juice through her nose not once, but twice, during her initial read-through.  
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><p><em>"I'll do anything for you<em>_: kill anyone for you_  
><em>So leave yourself intact<em>_, 'cause I will/won't be coming back"_

_-Coheed & Cambria  
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><p><em>Chapter 9<em>

When Giles and Willow returned from lunch, they found Spike sitting at the kitchen island, playing a game of solitaire. "Where is everybody?" Willow asked, surprised to see Spike doing something so… boring.

"Slayer and the Bit are upstairs having a heart to heart, the whelp's gone back to work, and Peaches's out in the back yard." He looked up at her. "Mind telling me what the deal is with that tree you two planted? He's been out there with it since Xander left. Fancied a bit of backyard time, but Peaches looked awfully cozy with the woody, so I gave 'em some privacy."

Willow seemed torn between going upstairs to make sure everything was alright, and finding out what was going on out back. After a second's pause, she made her way outside. The door closed behind her, and she stood in the shelter of the porch's shade to watch in awe.

Angel was communing with Jerry the tree again, which shouldn't really have been possible without her serving as a conduit between them. Except for the look of ecstasy on Angel's face and the nearly imperceptible growth of the tree, the casual observer would have seen nothing unusual. To Willow, it was the equivalent of a big-budget action film.

Life was exploding around them, and she had the feeling that if the organic pyrotechnics kept up at this intense of a pace for very much longer, Buffy's back yard would become a place of sacred power. Long minutes later, Angel opened his eyes, and smiled at her.

"Angel," she greeted him, "how ya feeling, champ?"

"A little more like a champ, actually." He smiled. "Not bad for somebody who was almost a dead man two days ago, I guess." When he rose, he was pleased at how little effort it cost him. _At this rate,_ he thought_, I'll be back in fighting shape in no time._

"Hold that thought, will ya?" Willow stuck her head back into the door and called to Giles. When he appeared, she asked him to go try and commune with Jerry.

"Yes, of course," he agreed, moving to sit by the lime tree, "but may I ask why?"

"Angel and Jerry shouldn't have been able to connect so strongly without a conduit of some sort, so now I'm wondering if there's something special about Jerry or if Angel has some sort of gift."

Spike, who'd been standing unnoticed in the shadows, snorted, "Figures if Peaches had a gift, it'd be something dead useful like the ability to chat up the trees and flowers. Our very own Dr. Do-nothing."

"Shut up, Spike," Angel snapped.

Giles closed his eyes, but reopened them a few minutes later. "I'm sorry, Willow, but I didn't feel anything unusual, except a few adventurous ants."

Willow nodded. "Well, then it must be Angel. Do you mind trying again with one of the shrubs, or something?"

"You want me to commune with a _shrub_?" he asked doubtfully.

"It's that or a cactus, and between me and you, I'm not really a fan of the energy they give off. Plus, ix-nay on the arp-shay uff-stay," she whispered conspiratorially while Spike snickered.

Angel settled himself in front of one of the shrubs Willow pointed at, and tried to relax and feel its energy the way he had Jerry's. Funny how calling a tree by name didn't feel odd anymore. After a while he stood up, dusting off the seat of his shorts. "Sorry," he told her, "nothing. Must have been a fluke."

Willow screwed up her face, thinking. She'd never heard of a person bonding with a tree or something, but that was the only explanation for what she'd seen. "Can you try it again with Jerry?"

"You'll commune with any old vegetation, won't you, old man?" Spike teased. Angel tensed, but made his way back to Jerry. When he touched the trunk, he felt his skin begin to tingle, and he gasped at the sensation. He sat, back against the tree, and smiled.

"Giles, can you see that at all?" Willow asked him, wide eyed.

"Well, yes," he told her, "but I doubt my vision compares to yours. The fact I can see it at all, though, is quite remarkable."

"Have you ever heard of something like that?"

"No, but I'll ask the coven. They're still my main source of information on Earth magic. I'd be surprised if they aren't aware of what's happening here."

Willow nodded, unable to take her eyes of the brilliance before her. "Check his wounds, or better yet, get Buffy to. I'd bet dollars to divination rods that whatever is happening is helping him heal."

"It would certainly explain why he's here instead of on a ventilator at the hospital," Giles agreed.

Spike stubbed out the cigarette he'd lit and wandered back into the house. There'd be plenty of time later to tell them about his hand.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, the Scoobies, including Angel and Spike, were waiting in the living room for Buffy to come downstairs and start the meeting. Just as she was done changing into jeans and a top that she thought of as more slayer-y, a timid knock sounded at the door. She crossed the room in two fast strides, and was shocked to find Giles, a look of trepidation on his face. "Buffy," he began, "I wonder if I could have just a moment before we begin?"<p>

Unease crept into the pit of her stomach: these conversations rarely went well. Crossing her arms over her chest she looked at him warily, "That depends on what you're going to say. If it's another apocalypse, now's not really a good time for me."

Giles smiled. "No, there is no impending doom that I'm aware of. Actually, I was hoping you'd forgive me for taking the liberty to invite a few extra people to the meeting tonight."

Buffy smiled back at her Watcher, putting him at ease. "Giles, you've been a hero the past few days while I was dealing with the Species Surprise Squad. If you think we need to open the meeting to another team, I'm game."

"Yes, well, I rather thought that involving Tuesday's team with the research on the recent events involving Angel and Spike would keep them occupied while she's off active duty, and that working closely with the Alpha Team, as they call us, would smooth any malcontent that may be spreading."

Buffy thought a second, seeing the sense in his plan. "I never think of stuff like that. It's one of the many reasons I wish I still had my Watcher."

"Which brings me to the other guest I've invited to the meeting. Tuesday's team will arrive later to help with the research, but I've invited a young man named Graham Branscomb to join us shortly."

"Never heard of him, unless he's one of the masses whose names I can't keep straight."

"Graham's been working closely with me at the school. Should he provide a good fit to the group, I plan on him being Mr. Marsh's replacement upon his retirement, and your Watcher."

Buffy wasn't sad to hear the old man who was the head of the Watcher branch in Miami was retiring. Marsh had been a lifelong member of what they now called the Old Council, and he wasn't thrilled with the new direction they'd taken the Organization. He saw no reason to 'fix' something that had worked smoothly for a millennium though he was remarkably good at keeping his opinions to himself, and his dedication to fighting evil was impressive. He'd done his best to make the Watcher branch here in Miami operate the way they wanted it to, but it was time for somebody who shared their vision to replace the stuffy old man.

"So what makes this guy Scooby material?"

"Graham was one of the youngest members of the Council, and by their standards barely acceptable into the fold. If he hadn't been a multi-generation legacy, I doubt they would have inducted him."

"So, he's a really bad Watcher?"

"In a word," Giles smiled, "yes. The Council considered him rash and entirely too revolutionary. He's a brilliant mind, but it was mostly wasted on running errands, which is why he was lucky enough to survive the bombing."

"Fortuitous dry cleaning run?"

"Yes, combined with an even more fortuitous missing of the bus." Giles's expression became serious again. "He's very young, Buffy, and inexperienced, but I think he would fit nicely into your team, and I believe he would be an asset to the organization."

"Ok, fine, we'll give him an audition, but nobody's taking your place, got it?" she narrowed her eyes playfully.

"Eventually somebody has to, Buffy. I'm far too old to be the future of the Watcher branch."

"We can argue about that later. Right about now, I'm figuring if we don't get down there to keep the troops quiet, there's going to be a battle royale in my living room, and if anybody breaks my new lamps, they're toast."

* * *

><p>When Buffy descended the stairs with Giles, the group waiting in the living room was ominously silent, and most of them were glaring at Spike, who was openly smirking at them. He'd donned his duster, and with it his attitude, apparently. "I don't even want to know what's been going on down here, do I?" she asked.<p>

Angel smiled at her, making her heart do that fluttery thing. "Spike's just being himself. You know how it is: you can't take him anywhere, unless you _want_ to alienate people."

"Pot-kettle-black!" Xander fake coughed, earning a giggle from Dawn.

"Do y'know what I find amusing, Peaches?" Spike asked, tossing his duster over the banister, and leaning into the doorframe that separated the kitchen from the living room. "I actively antagonize people, but they hate you as badly for just existing. Wonder which of us that makes the biggest social outcast?"

"Unless you two are willing to slather on baby oil and wrestle it out in the backyard, would you just stop with the testosterone thing?" Buffy snapped at them.

"Yeah," Xander interjected, "Can we just get this over with, so I can _not_ be in a room with my two least favorite dead people?"

"Xander!" Willow cried. "They're not dead anymore. They have pulses and they breathe the oxygen now."

"They'll always be dead to me, Will."

"You know," Spike said, to Angel, "my only real regret about not being a vampire anymore is that I didn't get to eat him before we went to Africa."

"I have fond memories of knocking him out when I was pretending to be Angelus," Angel agreed. "It was really the only good part of that day."

Xander scowled from the couch, but before he could fire back at the much older man, the tension was cut by a shave-and-a-haircut knock at the door. Giles opened the door, revealing a lanky young man with too-long brown hair that curled over his ears, making him look like an unkempt professor.

"Mr. Branscomb," Giles greeted him, stepping back from the door so the young man could enter, "please, come in. We were just getting started. Everybody, this is H. Graham Branscomb, a member of the Watcher Branch. Mr. Branscomb was also a member of the previous Watchers' Council." Giles introduced him to each member of the team, allowing him a moment to shake each hand as he went.

"Mr. Branscomb," Buffy greeted him, unsure if she should call him that or just call him by his surname, as she did Giles. Either way, it was quite a mouthful.

"Call me Graham," he said, almost as if he'd heard the question. His accent was somewhere between Giles' and Spike's; obviously educated, but less formal. He shook Buffy's hand with a star-struck expression.

"Let me guess, Mr. Branscomb is your father, right sport?" Spike asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, of course," Graham said with an apologetic expression, "old Watcher families are a bit stodgy that way. I very much hope that the new Order will be more relaxed. Not that I'm proposing a slew of illegitimate children to set the tone, but I suppose it would be an effective way to go about it." He stopped for a moment, taking in the stunned silence of the room, "I don't really know them well enough to make those sorts of jokes yet, do I?" he asked Giles in a loud whisper, taking a seat next to Dawn.

"No. Not as such," the older Watcher told him, taking his glasses off to mop at his forehead with his handkerchief.

Abruptly, Spike began to laugh at the man across from him. "Oh, Rupes, I like this one. Can we keep him?" he asked saucily.

"That _was_ the plan, Spike."

"Great! He can be the new Zeppo!" Xander said excitedly to Willow, who slapped his arm, before turning his attention to Graham. "Hey, do you know where the good donut shops are? 'Cause I've got a map I can loan you."

"Graham is not here to be your flunkie, Xander," Giles told him, irritated.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to put you out of a job," Spike quipped.

Xander scowled, "Hey, this isn't the good old days, Spike. I'm important. I do stuff. I-"

"Get the donuts?" Angel asked.

"But afterwards, I do all kinds of important things."

Graham, uncomfortably aware of the smoldering looks Spike was shooting at him, tilting his head, and touching his tongue to his teeth leaned over to ask Dawn nervously, "Am I hallucinating, or is William the Bloody flirting with me?"

"Don't take it personally," Dawn advised him in a bored voice, "Spike would flirt with a rock, if it made eye contact. He's just testing you."

"So, I should stop making eye contact, then?"

"Only if you want him to stop."

"Right," Graham looked away uncomfortably.

"Have I mentioned how much I'd really like to get this show on the road?" Xander asked. "One of us does still keep a day job, you know."

"That's your own fault, Xander. You're the one who was crazy enough to keep two full-time jobs." Dawn pointed out with a smile that took the sting out of her words.

Xander shrugged. "Call me over-sensitive, but I like the reminder that there are still some things in life that don't revolve around soulless monsters and psychotic hell plots."

"No, instead you deal with soulless bank officers and psychotic home owners," she reminded him."

"And terrifying as they may be, I've never had to worry about them _actually_ sucking the earth into a hell dimension," Xander said with a pointed look in Angel and Spike's direction.

"Hey," Spike said indignantly, "you always forget to mention that I helped keep that from happening, _and_ it was before I had a soul. Or a bloody chip, for that matter. Plus, there was that other time I saved the world, and I _never_ get credit for that."

"Oh, god, please not this rant again," Angel groaned. "For the last time, Spike, saving the world doesn't make you stand out in this crowd. We've all saved the world."

"Well, technically, the whole dying-to-save-the-world thing kind of puts Buffy and Spike in the same category, while me and you are in the saved-the-world-but-also-tried-to-end-it camp," Willow pointed out helpfully, then wilted at Buffy's glare. "But, who's keeping score?" she backpedaled, wincing at her own words.

"See?" Spike crowed. "Even the witch agrees that I'm in a higher class than you, mate."

"Oh, come on. I'm still not convinced that you didn't pull that whole Hellmouth stunt just to give yourself three months with that noncorporeal form to torture me endlessly."

"Really? You think I decided that I wanted to see your mug every day over Buffy's, especially after she told me she loved me? Admit it. Me ending up in LA was the luckiest break you ever had, Peaches. And, speaking of the Slayer, where is she?" Spike craned his head, having missed whatever variation on 'shut the hell up' that last remark should have earned him.

"Wait, am I to understand that _the Mother_ actually tried to end the world?" Graham asked, finally picking his jaw up off the floor.

"It's just Willow, sweetie. I only do the title when I can't avoid it," the redhead told him, serenely, despite the sick feeling in her stomach. _Why,_ she wondered, _couldn't I have thought that through before the words came out?_

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to read the diaries from my time as Buffy's Watcher," Giles suggested, speaking loudly to be heard over the din of Angel, Spike, and Xander firing insults at one another. "It would be handy to have a better grasp of the strangely soap operatic history of the group."

A shrill whistle tore through the air, demanding silence from the crowd. They all turned to find Buffy standing in the doorway, the fingers of one hand raised to her lips, the other holding a bottle of baby oil. When she lowered her hand, her voice was stern, "The next time one of you gives in to a testosterone-induced shout-a-thon, I'm oiling all of you up and taking bets in the backyard. Do _not _make me dig out the kiddie pool to prove my point."

The three men shifted uncomfortably, until Dawn piped up, "I have twenty on Spike." Every eye in the room swiveled in her direction, all of them shocked, except for Xander's.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," he replied sarcastically.

"Come, on, Xander, no mortal on the planet could take you, but they still have a little edge." She held two fingers about an inch apart to demonstrate.

"Yeah, but why Spike over me?" Angel asked, hurt.

Dawn shrugged, "'Cause I'm betting he has experience."

The group burst out laughing, while Spike smirked, confirming Dawn's suspicions.

"Speaking of Angel, Spike, and mortality, would it be terribly rude of me to try and get this meeting back on track. I do have a flight to catch in a few hours' time." When everybody looked suitably serious, he continued, "Willow and I believe we may have come up with a reasonable explanation for Angel's superior strength and for his uncanny healing ability." He recounted an abbreviated version of the story of Jerry and Angel.

"Sorry to put a damper on things, mate," Spike said, when he finished, "but Angel's not the only one with uncanny healing abilities." He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers.

"Great," Xander groused, as Dawn burst from her seat on the couch and grabbed Spike's hand to examine it. "Spike's the heavy favorite in the oil wrestling scenario, and the Deadboys Junior and Senior are going full-on Logan. Is it too much to ask that at _some_ point one of them not be cursed with awesome? They're like comic book heroes here."

"Two days ago, I could see the bone when I sewed this cut up," Dawn marveled, when Xander finally wound up his rant. "I did a really good job, but I don't think it was _that_ good."

Spike shrugged, nonchalantly. "When I woke up the next morning, I took the bandage off, and it was healed. Had little bits of suture poking out through the new skin. Itched like hell, it did, till I cut 'em off."

Giles removed his glasses for another wipe with his handkerchief, "Well, then, we must find out more about the magic used to restore Angel and Spike's humanity, and I would also think it a good idea to examine the ways which their physiology differs from a regular human's."

"Should we establish a baseline, and try to track any changes as time passes, rather than assume their abilities are static?" Graham asked, earning nods of approval from both Willow and Giles, and looks of 'huh?' from Xander and Spike.

"Yes, Graham," Giles told him, "I believe that would be a good use of your energy. Use whatever resources you need, and feel free to utilize Tuesday's team however you see fit."

"I'll work with you on this case," Buffy told him in more of a commanding tone than a volunteering one.

The color seeped from the young Watcher's face, as the full implication of his invitation to sit in on the meeting clicked in his head. "Wait, do you mean that I'm saying here in Miami?"

"Welcome to the Scoobies," Buffy told him. "Don't thank us yet. Excluding the formerly undead, the life-expectancy of the recruits is iffy at best."

"Right," Graham said in a small voice. "Does the death-rate increase with alcohol consumption?"

"No, but, shagging one of those four," Spike pointed to Willow, Xander, Giles and Buffy, "seems to. Red's not interested, and I don't care much about the Whelp and the old man, but I'd suggest steering clear of the Slayer."

"Down, boy." Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike's not-even-a-little-bit-subtle threat.

Graham was fairly certain that Spike was half-serious at best, but the quiet glare Angel leveled in his direction terrified him.

* * *

><p>An hour later, a cab honked from the curb, and Buffy, Willow, and Dawn descended on Giles with hugs, well-wishes, and promises to write and call in a non work-related capacity more often. Xander offered a more reserved handshake, though Dawn was certain she saw him blink back tears. Her suspicions were confirmed by the ragged tone of his voice when he spoke to Graham, "You should probably and get started with the running experiments on Angel and Spike. Especially Spike. And, don't shy away from the pointy stuff."<p>

"Yeah, I'll help with that," Buffy said distractedly, looking out the window in the direction the cab had carried her Watcher. The giggle started with Dawn, but eventually it spread around the room, breaking the tension and snapping Buffy out of her reverie. "What?" she asked, confused. "Did I say something funny?"

Xander rose to put his arm companionably over her shoulder with a wide grin, "Not to me, you didn't."

Buffy narrowed her eyes playfully, "When I figure out what everybody's laughing at, am I going to want to strangle you?"

"Probably," he told her cheerfully, "but the important thing is that you won't."

"Come on," Dawn said, grabbing hold of Xander's arm and towing him toward the door, "between the library and the gym, I think headquarters is going to be our one-stop shop for all our supernatural needs."

"And Angel still hasn't seen HQ," Spike pointed out helpfully. "I saw it yesterday right before I led a very successful raid on a nest of vamps. You were probably sleeping."

"Probably, but I had good dreams," he said with a pointed look at Buffy, who blushed. "Of course, on that much morphine it's hard to separate the dreams from real life."

Spike scowled. "Are we going to get some work done, or are we going to stand here all day and chat?" He pushed himself to his feet and followed Dawn and Xander out the door.

"Just so we're clear," Angel said after Willow and Graham followed Spike out of the room, "I didn't dream you kissing me before you left, did I?"

"No," Buffy whispered, dropping her eyes, a tremor in her voice.

"And today wasn't a dream, either, right?"

Buffy shook her head.

Angel placed gentle fingers under her chin and tipped it up until her eyes met his. "Good," he said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling. She leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand against her skin.

"Angel…"

"I know." Angel's breath was warm as a kiss against her lips. "I'm not pushing. But, I'm not going anywhere, either."

"Don't mind me," Spike announced, stomping toward the staircase as Buffy and Angel sprang apart with matching guilty expressions. "I just came back for my coat." He snatched it from its resting place atop the banister, shrugged it on, and stormed out in a flare of black leather. He closed the door behind him, and lit a cigarette, giving himself a moment to compose his features into a mask. He might have caught the Great Bloody Ponce with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, but he was damned if he'd let Xander Bloody Harris or the new boy see him upset. He had a reputation to maintain, after all. "Shall we, then?" he asked, striding over to where the rest of the group was waiting.

"Shouldn't we wait for Buffy and Angel?" Willow asked, trying to keep the sympathy she knew Spike would hate out of her voice. She could guess that whatever he'd walked in on was nearly as upsetting as what Angel had seen a few days before.

Spike shrugged. "Slayer's probably gonna have to give Peaches a piggyback ride on account of his delicate health. Don't feature walking that slow, myself."

Xander shuddered at the idea. "No," he agreed, "we don't need to stick around for that much Angel on Buffy action."

Graham laughed. "That was a particularly unfortunate choice of words, all things considered."

"Graham, sweetie, we don't usually make jokes about Buffy and Angel or Spike around Xander. It's like kicking a puppy that makes sad people faces and snarky comments at you." Willow explained, motioning to the sick expression on Xander's face as evidence.

"You guys can stay here all day and discuss my sister's riveting love life, but I'm with Spike. There's work to do." She stormed away from the group, furious at Xander's continued investment in Buffy. After a few steps, he followed her, and tried to break her stony silence with his nervous chatter.

"You ever just wake up and know it was going to be one of those days?" Willow asked Graham as the two brought up the rear of the procession.

"Sure. Of course I didn't have that sense at all this morning when I left Vermont, so my gauge may be faulty."

"Welcome to the Wonderful World of the Hellmouth, where we guarantee a mystical disturbance, interspecies romantic entanglement, or an apocalypse every day, or your money back."

* * *

><p>Graham scrubbed an exasperated hand through his hair, noticing from the curls over his ears that he was about a month overdue for a cut. Soon as somebody figured out a spell to extend the time between cuts, he was in. Not for the first time, he wondered why there weren't very many <em>useful<em> bloody spells.

Tensions were high in the room; he'd wanted to start establishing a baseline with Angel as soon as possible, in case the issue with the tree was, in fact, impacting his strength and healing abilities past whatever anomaly affected both he and Spike. Unfortunately, he'd yet to complete a single diagnostic, having been interrupted every time by Buffy insisting that it was too much strain for the tall man. The first time he'd shot a triumphant grin in Spike's direction, but as the time rolled on, his expression had become pained, and Spike's abuse had ratcheted up to a nearly impossible level.

"No wonder you wanted me to test Illyria," Spike scoffed when Buffy ended the simple stress test Graham had been conducting. "No way you were up to the job, Peaches."

Buffy frowned and planted her hands on her hips. "Spike, one more word, and I swear I'll stake you myself."

"Least it'd be a _real_ Slayer took me down, not some junior wannabe like Tuesday." Spike unleashed the smile that made her knees weak, and she gritted her teeth, trying to remember she was angry.

"Hey, I was trying to _not_ kill the girl," Angel defended himself. "I'm still not used to fighting with this body."

"Speaking of, I've been thinking about how that exchange might have gone. Let me run this past you, and you grade it for accuracy: 'Pardon me, Miss, would you mind not trying to kill me? You're going to muss up my very fancy hairstyle,'" Spike parodied in a deep voice, then switched to a higher register to emulate Tuesday, "'I'm going to try to kill you now. Would you mind standing still to compensate for my barely-there slayer abilities?_'_". He switched to the deeper voice again. "'Anything for a lady, especially one with half an ounce of slayer inside her. Sure, I could defend myself, but I much prefer letting you beat me into a dishrag.'"

Graham burst out laughing. "You should try a career in standup, you know. Now you're human and terrorizing the masses isn't considered a valid life choice."

"Narrating Angel's interactions with women from a distance has been a hobby of mine for the past century. I've just about got it down," Spike told him. "Of course, it loses a little something if you've never met Captain Forehead here, so that would cut down on my potential audience, unless we made videotapes of him for me to dub over."

"Spike has to watch my interactions with women from a distance because it's the closest he can get to one," Angel explained to Graham. "I go in, break the ice, then a few years later they might settle for him. Doesn't usually last long, though."

"If I just let you keep at it, will you get it out of your systems?" Buffy asked in disgust.

"Haven't gotten it out of our systems the past hundred years. I have my doubts we'll work it out before we're ready for the old folks home," Spike told her.

"I'm hoping to be deaf by then, so I won't actually have to hear him," Angel confided to her.

"Couldn't make your come backs any worse," Spike fired back.

"Really?" Angel acted surprised, "'Cause I thought the one where I pointed out that both Drusilla and Buffy loved me first was a little bit of a zinger."

"Hey, standing right here, remember? Also, stop using me as ammo in your little verbal sparring match."

"Right," Graham jumped in, trying to salvage the situation. "Speaking of sparring, I was thinking that perhaps we'll try again tomorrow to test Angel. In the meantime, Buffy if you'd go a few rounds with Spike, paying special attention to strength and speed then contrasting them to his pre-human abilities, it would be most helpful."

"We'll start slow," Buffy told him, dropping into a fighting stance.

"Now, love," Spike said, taking a predatory step toward her, "you know I don't like it that way."

"I mean it, Spike. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Confident, aren't you?" He angled his steps so that he was circling her. "You think being a vampire was my only fighting skill?" He unleashed an exploratory jab in her direction that she slapped away. He never meant it to hit, but it was a gauge of his new strength against hers. He was still strong, but not strong enough to take her in a brawl.

"No, but I think it made up for your impulsiveness and lack of foresight." Buffy launched a round kick towards his midsection, forcing him to jump back in order to keep his ribs in tact.

"I do tend to get caught up in all the excitement," he admitted, feigning a back-fist, and following it with a knee that landed deep in her stomach. Buffy grunted, but was otherwise unfazed.

Spike frowned. He'd been certain that knee would get his Slayer back into the game, but it barely seemed to faze her. Damned human muscles.

Watching Buffy fight without being at her side went against Angel's instincts, and it was all he could do not to tear Spike limb from limb. He'd never wanted to feel his demon pushing its way through his skin before, but right now he'd welcome it. His jaw clenched against the growl that wanted to find its way out, and his fists tightened at his sides. He knew Spike had always been in it for the thrill of the fight, but he couldn't fathom how that extended to Buffy, or how her reluctance to fight had been so quickly replaced by eagerness.

Spike slipped in with the grace and cruelty of a dagger sliding home, too close for Buffy to use her strength to its full advantage. The two traded blows, and without room to swing, the strength of their blows was nearly equal. It was the sort of fighting that wouldn't decide a fight, but would wear down your opponent, provided your opponent wasn't gifted with superhuman endurance, which, Buffy noticed, they both seemed to be.

Spike felt the joy of fighting with the Slayer, with _his_ Slayer, fill his veins with heat. She was magnificent, fighting him with the fury of a goddess, matching his own fire. He stepped back a pace, giving her the freedom to use her strength against him, and concentrated on stopping her from landing a blow.

Much like Angel had discovered, meeting the force of her strikes against him with equal force was a very bad idea. Bruises flowered along his arms after the first few attempts, and he switched to a softer style of blocking, deflecting her by redirecting her fists only slightly into a space he didn't occupy. He found his opening when Buffy threw a strong left, and used his own left to push the punch just a few inches off-target while stepping into the vulnerable spot on her left and throwing a hard right cross into her jaw.

Two weeks before, that would have been a jaw-breaking blow, but now it was barely sufficient to stun the Slayer. Still, he used the split second it bought him to bring his left hip behind hers and throw her backward onto the mat. He was on her before she'd come completely to rest, taking advantage of the fact that her right arm was pinned beneath her; his body pressed against hers kept her from being able to free it. He used his own right hand to trap her left above her head, and pressed his left forearm against her throat, a wicked smile on his lips.

Buffy locked her legs around his waist in a guard position, using the strength of her thighs to force Spike back a few inches, buying her room to breathe. She panted as the air rushed back into her lungs, and wrenched her trapped arm free, using it to grab his windpipe in a vice grip. Her face was split by a feral grin as she squeezed. Neither of them were completely without air, but their breathing was severely restricted and Buffy wondered which of them would give in to the lack of oxygen first.

The fight went by inches after that; a subtle shift in weight to lend more pressure or a little buck that gave precious tenths of a second to breathe. Their breathing was equally ragged, almost painful, and their eyes were locked in a steely staring contest that would only end when one of them fell unconscious.

The sight of them, sweating, in such an intimate position was more than Angel's already barely controlled anger could stand. He grabbed Spike, throwing him off Buffy, and landing a punch that resounded against his nose with a crack. The smaller man lurched to his feet, and threw himself at his grandsire, hatred coursing through his veins.

Buffy stepped between the two, and despite her superior strength, she was barely able to contain Spike. After a minute, he stopped trying, "What's the matter, mate, was that a little too graphic for you? Don't like the reminder that you only had the girl, where I had the woman and the warrior?" He laughed. "You'd never have been able to handle her, Peaches. You like your women delicate and submissive. This one," he motioned Buffy, "would break you."

"She never tried. Might have been because she felt safe with me."

"Was that before or after you broke her heart, tried to kill her, tortured her Watcher, and tried to end the world? And save the 'Angelus is a monster' bit for somebody who wasn't a vampire with a soul," Spike snapped.

"The next one of you who says anything is going to be escorted out by three Slayers who don't love either of you," Buffy told them. "I'm tired of this. You hate each other, and by some bizarre twist of fate, I love you both. I get how that's a really crappy situation for everybody involved. Really, I do, but I need you to deal with it."

The two men didn't stop glaring at one another, but Buffy took their silence for acquiescence, "Great," she told them, "now let's get back to work."

"Actually," Graham's voice was very nearly firm, a feat of which he was quite proud, considering what he was about to say, "I think we may make better progress if you were to leave. Tuesday can take over here. I'm sure you have very important business to attend to, anyway."

Buffy scowled, and Graham hoped that one of the former vampires would stop glaring at the other long enough to hold her back if she tried to strangle him, which, judging from her expression was quite possible. Without a word, she left the gym, slamming the door behind her.

"That was ballsy, Bookman," Spike noted, tearing his eyes away from Angel to the door. "Not particularly bright, but ballsy nonetheless."

"She doesn't hold grudges, does she?" Graham looked at the door apprehensively.

"I wouldn't say she holds grudges, per se," Angel began.

"It's more like she shackles them to her pretty ankles, so they can't get away," Spike finished. "Good luck with that."

"So this is what Willow meant when she said everyday around here was one of those days." Graham sighed.

* * *

><p>She giggled at his goblin joke, after hours of pointedly ignoring him, and Xander decided seeing Dawn's smile was worth the evil glares he'd earned from Tuesday's Watcher, Andy for breaking the silence. He'd never really had an issue with Andy before, despite the man's generally foul temper, but he decided to let the looks slide. Andy had been in a foul mood since Graham had summoned Tuesday to help him with Angel and Spike, and Xander wasn't sure if it was because his Slayer had been requisitioned by another Watcher or if it was because there was a new Watcher with the authority to do so.<p>

None of them had made any progress in figuring out what had happened to Spike and Angel. They'd only found a few sentences about the Cave Demon, and nothing about his power source. They also hadn't found anything else about a vampire successfully making the regression to a human form, though Angel assured them it wasn't the first time it had happened. Xander wondered if there was a story there, but he wasn't ready to spend that much time talking to him to find out.

Xander looked up when the library door opened, and Angel and Spike entered the room. When his eyes fell on Spike's swollen nose, he couldn't help himself, "What's the matter, Spikey? Buffy beat you senseless again?"

"Yeah, she got a little upset when I told her I put sugar in your gas tank earlier today."

"You wouldn't." Xander blanched at the thought.

"I would, actually, but I didn't," Spike retorted, leaning against a row of shelves, "Speaking of Buffy, where's she gone? I have a bone to pick with her."

"You just want her to pick your bone," Xander quipped. "You know, I should really start thinking about context before I go for the joke."

"Yeah, well, no disagreeing on either point," Spike told him. "Wherever she's gone, if she comes back with baby oil again, I won't say no."

"Couldn't you pretend to be a little less crass, at least where Buffy's concerned?" Angel asked.

"He could, but he probably won't," Willow piped up when Spike didn't answer. Then, she saw the look on his face. "Spike, what's wrong?"

Angel took a look around the room and saw what had diverted Spike's attention from a comeback. Including Andy, and that team's Wicca, Jenn, there were five people studying in the library when they'd entered, and there were only five piles of books spread out on the table. "Where's Buffy?" he asked roughly, fear spiking his system.

Dawn's face fell, and she unconsciously reached for Xander's hand. "She's with you. She went with _you_." Her voice was laden with the hysterical denial of a woman who's worried about a loved one for a very long time.

As one, Spike and Angel tore from the room, each of them taking a different direction down the hallway, searching. When they'd covered the entire building, they returned to the library, to find the Scoobies on red alert. "Her cell goes straight to voice mail," Xander told them, but more worrisome was Willow's drawn face.

"Just say it, Red," Spike told her heavily, knowing that the news wasn't good.

"Everybody has a unique essence, if you know what to look for. I can't feel Buffy's essence."

"You're not saying she's…" Angel couldn't finish the sentence when the air was squeezed from his chest by an unseen hand.

"I don't think so," Willow told him. "She's my best friend; I know what her essence feels like, but I can't feel it anywhere. I don't think she's dead, though… I think I'd feel it if she died."

"Again," Dawn said grimly. "If Buffy died _again_."

"I know things were rough when big sis came back, Bit, but it's been a long time since she wasn't here. Don't give up on her so quick."

"I'm not giving up, but we've had a lot of borrowed time with her. I'm just being realistic. Eventually, we have to give her back."

Willow and Xander shared a look over Dawn's head. They'd thought those scars had healed over, and were shocked to discover that she'd only learned to hide them. Spike walked over to Dawn and rubbed her shoulders gently while Xander held her hand, and Willow comforted her.

For the first time since his return, Angel felt truly out of place. He'd mourned Buffy; god, it felt like his soul had been ripped out when she died, but he'd done it alone, thinking that he was the chief mourner of the fallen Slayer. Willow, Xander, and Spike had endured the loss of a loved one while trying to hold the tattered remains of Dawn's world together.

"We're going to find her," Angel promised, hoping it would give her some comfort, lessen the stricken look that spread across her face. He hated himself for not thinking about her before. "Dawn, we'll find her."

"But will you find her alive?"

"I hope so, pet. Girl's got a happily ever after coming to her, doesn't she? Knights are lined up around the block for her, so it's no time to be bowing out of the story, is it?"

Dawn smiled up at him with tears in her eyes. "You're a dork, but I'll forgive you for it, if you guys find my sister."

**A/N: I always feel like I should congratulate you for making it through another chapter, so just imagine that I was waiting at the finish with a marching band, fire-baton twirling majorettes, and a news crew. Flashbulbs twinkle like fairy lights, and the crowd is roaring your name, while big, brawny men lift you up onto their shoulders. And, you can extend the fantasy just a bit longer by clicking that little review button at the bottom of the page.**


	10. Gone

**I know it's been forever. Life was a little crazy, and this week has been the first time in a month I've even been home to get some writing done. So, this is the glossy version of Chapter 10, and a few things have changed, bits of grammar aside. Please, if you have a spare moment, give this chapter a quick read-through, just to make sure you're current. I had hoped to have Chapter 11 up by Sunday, but it's Friday, and I haven't gotten it to my betas yet because the last scene is giving me itchy feet. That'll make sense later. If my betas are as speedy as they always have been, I feel pretty confidant that I will be able to post Chapter 11 by Monday or Tuesday, and Chapter 12 the next week. Also, this not writing for four weeks thing has thrown a bit of a monkey wrench into my time-table for the second story arc in this series, About Tomorrow. I promise, as soon as I have four or five shiny chapters in the can, I'll start publishing it. If you want an alert when About Tomorrow starts to publish, you can put me on author alert, or you can put Turn the Hourglass Over on story alert; I'll post a new 'chapter' announcing the start of AT.  
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**As always, thanks for the reviews so far; it makes my day when I get one! Thanks also to The Imperfectionist for cheering me on, and to AllyPetals, who proved that she remembers more about the characters and story arcs I've outlined for this story than I do. Also, thanks to the great reviews I received this time around. You guys rule, and I hope to keep hearing from you.**

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><p><em>"You're gone and I'm haunted."<em>

_-A Fine Frenzy_

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><p><em>Chapter 10<em>

She was gone.

If he'd still been a vampire; if he'd still had a predator's senses; maybe he could have tracked her. As things stood, she seemed to have vanished at some point between the gym and the library. Buffy was gone, Dawn was trying hard to keep it together, and Spike looked ready to tear the place apart looking for her, but nobody was really _doing_ anything."

"Willow," Angel barked the order with more force than necessary, but it caught the group's attention, "I need you to get on the phone with whoever's been tracking down new Slayers for the Organization. See if anything just popped up. Maybe whatever's responsible moved Buffy before they cloaked her." Willow sat up straighter in her chair, glad to have something to focus on besides the fear.

"Anything that can make a Slayer with as much experience as Buffy disappear into thin air is probably a power player in the underworld. Buffy's too important to be a simple sacrifice or kill, and she's too valuable to waste, so they're going to want something. Xander, I need you to take Dawn back to the house, in case they try to make contact there."

"Bite me," Dawn snapped at him. "I'm not going anywhere until we find Buffy."

"I'm with him on this one, Platelet." Spike tried to convince her in a soothing voice, "Go home with the Cyclops."

"Did you mean that in the lame Greek way, or the very cool leader of the X-Men sort of way?"

"I meant it in the guy with one eye sort of – wait, did you just call _Cyclops_ cool?" Spike snorted, "I'm more of a Deadpool guy, myself."

"And this is me _not_ surprised."

Dawn ignored them, anger making her voice shake. "You guys are always trying to keep me out of things, and I appreciate that you want to keep me innocent, but I'm not. Remember me… fighting the First? I've been in the middle of everything for my entire existence, whether you want to admit it or not."

Angel liked to think that in a less tense situation he would have been more sensitive to Dawn, but his fear for Buffy trumped his concern for her sister, and he couldn't focus on finding her when his focus was pulled toward offering comfort to the younger woman. "Dawn," he ground out, "I _will_ find Buffy, but I can't do it with you here, and I'm not trying to protect you. If I thought I could use you in any way – _any_ way – to get her back, I'd do it."

Dawn glared daggers at Angel, but when she saw that he wasn't going to budge, she stood. "I'm going home to see if whatever took Buffy calls with ransom demands. Xander, you're with me." She stood, and turned on her heel, auburn hair whipping as she left the library.

"Jenn," Tuesday barked the order, "I want you on the horn with every team in Miami. Get them all on this ASAP. Andy-"

"No." Angel growled at the Slayer. "Do _not_ make that phone call. Do not make _any_ phone calls. Nobody outside of this room knows about this."

Tuesday laughed. "Yeah. I'm the senior Slayer here, and I am under no obligation whatsoever to listen to you. Jenn, make that call."

Angel covered the ground between them in two long strides, leaving very little space between them. Tuesday took an involuntary step backward, and felt a table brush up against the back of her thighs. When he spoke, his voice was low, silky, and very, very dangerous, "I'm usually a pretty nice guy, Tuesday, but where Buffy's concerned, there is nothing I won't do to protect her. Unless you want to know exactly how differently things would have gone if I'd fought back in that graveyard, I'd suggest sitting down and being very, very quiet."

"Yeah, what he said, only cooler, and with a jab about your sub-par Slayer skills at the end," Spike said from across the room.

Tuesday swallowed. "You don't intimidate me," she insisted, despite being unnerved by the steely determination in Angel's eyes.

Willow took pity on the girl, knowing that if she bowed to Angel it would crack a spirit that had already taken a severe, if unintentional, blow at his hands. She stood, letting authority ring through her voice when she spoke, "Call off your team. Angel takes the lead on this one."

Tuesday's jaw dropped with a little pop, and her head snapped to her right to stare in shock at the witch. "But-"

"This isn't a discussion, Tuesday, and if it were, the only people of sufficient rank to debate me are the Slayer-General and the Watcher-General." The use of Buffy's and Giles's ranks struck Tuesday deeply. Pulling rank wasn't something that happened often on the Large Hellmouth, and it rankled. She nodded with a clenched jaw that made a muscle stand out in her hollow cheeks. Willow raised an eyebrow, a reminder that the younger Slayer hadn't acknowledged her station. She felt bad about it, but once you've decided to pull rank, you have to follow it through, or you undermine your own authority.

"Yes… Mother," Tuesday acknowledged grimly. She didn't look at Angel again, as she told her team to stand down, but she did perch on the edge of the table and await orders.

"Andy, Jenn, I need you to both start looking for a demon capable of abducting the Slayer-General," Angel told them. Her title felt strange in his mouth, but he thought they could use a reminder of who was at stake, besides the woman he loved. "Concentrate on something that can incapacitate, silence, or teleport. If it didn't have at least one of those capabilities, I think she would have been able to at least raise an alarm. Graham, you'll supervise the research team.

"Tuesday, I need you to compile a list of demon hang outs and informants. Spike, you're with me. We'll take part of the list, and Tuesday can take the other part of it. Before you try for some sort of retribution, remember what's at stake here."

Angel looked at the group; Willow's face was pale, yet resolute, rage was plain on Tuesday's face, but Andy and Jenn only look determined. Spike's face was a mask of calm, but Angel recognized the fear that lay beneath it, and the cold fury it fed.

"Does everybody understand their parts?" When they all nodded, he smiled grimly. "Good, then, let's get to work."

* * *

><p>Xander was a pro at being at a loss for the right thing to do or say when a woman was involved, but he'd never stopped hating the sensation. Dawn had thundered up the stairs to her room, but she hadn't slammed the door, and he didn't know if that meant she needed privacy or if she wanted him to come comfort her.<p>

Somebody really needed to get on to finding the Xander/female Rosetta stone, he decided, settling on following her up the stairs slowly and loudly. He figured at the very least, the warning would give her time to slam the door before his face was in it. He reached the threshold of the still open door, hesitated, then stepped through.

In a rare moment of good judgment, he didn't call out 'Dawnie' to her, but waited for her to speak, sparing him the wrath that her childhood nickname would have earned him. She sat on the bed, with her back turned to him, but from the stiffness of her posture, he knew she hadn't calmed down a bit. "Nobody will ever think of me as anything but a kid, will they?"

Xander ignored her question, instead launching into a rambling monologue. "Did you know I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid? Straight out of the ideas that make you say, 'what,' I know, but true." Dawn turned toward him just a little, a sign she was listening. "Of course that was before I knew that college wasn't on the Harris budget or that I was pretty bad at school. Still, I spent all this time reading about being a doctor. I kept thinking about how when one of those mysterious Sunnydale 'accidents' caught up to the family, I could save the day, if I was a doctor, you know? Make my dad proud of me.

"Turns out, doctors aren't allowed to treat family members. Some rule about not being able to stay objective, so it wouldn't have really worked out for me. I mean, I guess maybe I could have saved a lot of other people, but that wouldn't have made me feel better about not being able to help a family member after that theoretic catastrophe."

Dawn sniffed, "I totally get the after-school-special lesson here, but it doesn't really apply. I'm not hysterical, and I'm perfectly capable of doing research to help find my sister."

Xander sat gingerly next to her on the bed. "The other big restriction doctors have is that they aren't allowed to be in the operating room with a loved one, even if all they want is to know everything is being done to save them. It puts too much pressure on the surgeon to have a family member looking over his shoulder, makes his focus go poof. It sucks for the person in the waiting room, but it's better in the long run for the one who's hurt.

"You have to stop thinking we look at you and see big eyes, knobby knees, and missing teeth, Dawn."

"What do you see?" she asked, her anger giving way to pain and fear.

"I see a strong, smart, beautiful woman who helps me keep a dozen Slayers and their entourages in line, but makes terrible guacamole."

Dawn scooted next to him, laying her head against his shoulder. Xander put his arms around her, tentatively at first, then pulling her more tightly to him when she didn't resist. "You don't know the guacamole was bad. You didn't eat any."

"And, I have rejoiced several times. I very nearly even thanked Spike for the intervention."

"No, you didn't," Dawn called his bluff, smiling against his chest.

"You're right. I'd rather eat the guacamole," Xander agreed.

* * *

><p>Graham studied things. It was a sort of character flaw, really, or so he'd always been told, usually by people who didn't appreciate how little escaped his notice. He never managed to convince anybody that he couldn't help it. His brain just never shut off, though he fervently wished it would do so, at least long enough to let him sleep a solid eight hours a night. His brain always felt like a computer, churning through half a dozen processes at once. One part would be keeping tabs on the conversation, while another was cataloguing the surroundings; and not in a 'that's a nice rug' sort of way. His appraisals tended to run in more of a 'that appears to be a Hurankee conjuring dish with thistle ash' and then a corner of his brain would start compiling a list of spells and evocations that used those ingredients, while another would start cataloguing ways to counter those spells. It was exhausting, and it had always been one of the things that had made him a little different from his peers. Of course, having a father who was an agent for a secret society of paranormal experts and a mother who had been a librarian for that same organization hadn't really helped either.<p>

His mother was retired now, but she still was still the keeper of what she considered an important set of documents: her great-grandmother Sorina's diaries. Sorina was a Potential Slayer in the latter half of the nineteenth century, and one of few that had chronicled her time studying under the Council's tutelage. He'd read the diaries when he was young, and knew that the only reason the Council had let his mother keep them in her possession was because they focused on her torrid affair with her Watcher, Heinrich, as much as her training. The pair had eventually married, but the Council had always frowned upon Watchers consorting with their Slayers.

Judging from the expression on Willow's face, the conversation with the coven was not going well. Her brows were drawn together slightly, and the only time he'd seen that expression was when she'd put her foot in it at the meeting earlier when she dropped that bombshell about nearly ending the world, which still really blew his mind, thank you very much. The Mother- thinking of her simply as Willow was going to take some getting-used to, he was afraid- didn't have any lines on her forehead to indicate that she wore that expression often, so one had to surmise that she was unhappy about what she heard.

If he understood Willow's end of the conversation, the coven had been working steadily to pinpoint the location of all the Slayers that were roaming about with super-powers and no idea what they were for. The hope had been that if a Slayer popped up unexpectedly, it might be a lead on Buffy, but it had come to nothing.

_Great,_ he thought to himself_, I've been Buffy's Watcher for less than six hours, and she's disappeared without a trace. When Giles finds out about this, I'm well and proper screwed. He's talking about me taking over Marsh's duties upon his retirement, and I can't seem to keep up with just the one Slayer._

* * *

><p>Spike hated to admit that the old man still had one of the best intimidation techniques on the planet. He'd learned at Angel's knee, but he'd never had the patience to get into somebody's head the way he had. His own style was to instill fear through pain, which wasn't as useful since he'd gotten a soul. It was part of what made fighting the creepy crawlies so much fun.<p>

He also hated that nothing made his mind stop screaming that _his_ Slayer was gone. He lit a cigarette and snapped his lighter shut with a savage motion as he and Angel strode toward the next place on Tuesday's list. They'd already been to a couple, and they'd done a good job of terrifying the locals, one of them even offering up his first-spawned son if they left, but had gotten nowhere closer to finding Buffy.

Whatever it was, it was operating far enough under the radar that even the disappearance of The Slayer hadn't even made a ripple. They needed a higher class of ugly, Spike decided, and they didn't have access to that sort of influence here in Miami. He should have spent more time playing kitten poker.

"Any plans to quit?" Angel nodded at the cigarette clenched between his teeth. Tensions were still high, but the two had settled into their stride, knowing that letting the panic of Buffy's disappearance shine through even a bit would only keep them from getting the information they needed to find her.

"Not tonight," Spike replied tersely. They turned into a particularly forbidding alleyway, home to the third demon haunt on Tuesday's list. A few steps in, they brushed past a scaled demon who gave them an interested look before he shrugged and let them pass.

"It's times like these I miss having a game face," Angel said confidingly.

Spike shrugged. "You're the one wanted to get all human. _I_ liked being a vampire."

"You didn't have to come with me. In fact, I remember trying pretty hard to convince you to stick around in LA and keep fighting the good fight."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, and watch you walk off into the sunset with the Slayer? Like hell."

"Now you just have a better view," Angel told him with a smirk.

"Seems to me, Peaches, neither one of us are going to make a happily-ever-after with Buffy if we can't find her."

"We'll find her," Angel growled.

"_I'll_ find her, then _you'll_ be left watching me make off with her in the sunset," Spike told him, only half joking.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Not really," they stopped in front of a black door, "I just have more important people to talk to."

The inside of the bar was dark and smoky, but not in a neon beer sign and cigarette sort of way. The gloom was almost unnatural, it was so thick, leaving only enough light to show that aside from the dozen stools against the bar, there were no seats. A bored-looking man polished a filthy glass with a dirtier rag. One lone patron, a squat demon that looked like he'd been modeled after a fire hydrant sat at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. When he saw the two men enter the bar, he slid from his stool and began to inch toward the sewer access demon haunts almost always had.

"If I have to come and get you, it's going to hurt," Spike told him helpfully. The demon inched back into his seat, but looked around furtively, as though he were hoping another escape would present itself.

Angel gave the demon a savage smile as he leaned in close, his eyes cold. "We need information, and you look like you might have answers."

"Not me," the demon protested weakly, "nobody tells me anything."

"No, they don't," Angel agreed, his voice soft, dangerous, "but that doesn't stop you from knowing their business, does it? Something's going down in Miami. I want to know what it is."

"Man, there's lots of stuff going down here every minute of the day. You want information like that, you gotta hit the library."

"I don't want to hit the library," Angel told him amiably, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But, I'm perfectly willing to hit you if it makes you talk faster."

"What do you want to know?" The demon asked him, skeptically.

"I want to know who has plans against the Slayers."

"Why? You want in on the action?"

Angel tightened his hand on the demon's shoulder, squeezing it. "I want you to answer my question."

The demon flinched at the vice-like grip. "I don't know any really big thing involving Slayers, man, I swear. Only thing I hear is your run-of-the-mill tough guy talk. You know, couple demons or vamps talking about finding one after they've had a few. Everybody wants to be a Spike, but nobody's crazy as that guy." Spike smirked, until the demon continued, "If, you know, he even exists. Personally, I think he's just an urban legend, like Santa Clause."

"I've been around a long time. Trust me; half of what you've heard about Spike is an exaggeration," Angel told him with a straight face. "Now, tell me something useful."

"About what?" the demon squeaked against the pressure in Angel's hand.

"Is there anybody new and interesting in town?" Spike asked, rolling his eyes when the demon looked to Angel for permission to answer the question.

"There's a warlock making some noise. Demon. Been hiring himself out for jobs. Not making many friends, but he _is_ making a lot of cash, you know?" the demon babbled nervously, eyes shifting toward the door.

"I need a name," Angel told him.

"My name's not really pronounceable in by humans or humanoids with only the one set of vocal chords, you know? I go by Jeremy on this plane."

"Not you, you idiot. The warlock." Angel rolled his eyes and gave him a little shake.

Jeremy squeaked, "Vail! His name is Avun Vail."

Spike and Angel shared a look. "What's the bugger look like?" Spike asked. He pulled a dagger out of the pocket of his duster and used it to clean his fingernails, in a gesture Jeremy found deeply intimidating.

"Red skin, white hair, evil. Kind of stereotypical, you know?"

"Evil in a stringy hair and dark billowy robes sort of way?" He looked up from his hands.

"No, evil in a used car salesman in a polyester suit sort of way. The guy really creeps me out."

"Where can we find him?"

"I have no clue, man." Angel's eyes bored into the demon's pink ones, daring him to not tell him what he wanted to know. "I only met him the one time! But, I gotta pretty good nose, you know? He smelled like a cheap hotel room, and before you go shaking me again, I swear that's all I can tell you."

Angel dropped the demon unceremoniously and turned toward the door. After a second's hesitation, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a few notes, setting them on the bar in front of Jeremy. "You come through for us, we make it worth your while. You'd do well to remember that. It's easier than all the shaking around stuff, even if it is less fun." He turned away from the demon's shocked expression and followed his grandsire out the door and into the alleyway.

"Did you just pay that guy for the information we scared out of him?" Angel asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, well, he was useful, and Wesley would have paid him," Spike defended himself.

"So, now we're giving money to demons in his memory?"

"You'd think a forehead that size would have some brains behind it," Spike told him. "I'm working on building a network of informants here, so we actually know what's going down in this town, Peaches. It's real handy to know who's who and what's what when things like today go down. Since I'm not into the Big Bad these days, I have to take the less expedient and more costly approach, don't I?"

Truthfully, Angel never paid much attention to the effort Wesley had put into establishing and maintaining contacts all over LA, and he never thought about how information came across his desk at Wolfram & Hart, so long as it got there when he needed it. He'd always had decent luck terrifying people into cooperation, and Spike had usually just started cutting off parts until the information he wanted fell out. Even after all the time since Spike came back, Angel reflected, sometimes it was jarring to see the changes in the younger man.

"You think this Avun Vail is related to Cyvus?" Angel asked him.

"Red-skinned warlock comes to town with the same name as one you had slaughtered in LA, and we find out about him the same time Buffy comes up missing? Tell me you weren't thinking of passing that off as a coincidence."

"Not really. Just wanted to make sure you were keeping up."

"I'd say I'm a few steps ahead of you at the moment. Usually am, come to think."

"Keep telling yourself that, Spike. Maybe one of these days, you'll believe it."

* * *

><p>Not for the first time, Graham wondered why time spent in a library goes by so much more slowly than the same amount of time anywhere else. Inversely, time spent enjoying a wet t-shirt contest during a Greek holiday went far more quickly than it should. The hours since Angel, Spike, and Tuesday left to try and scare up some information had been tense and, though he hated to admit it, rather unproductive.<p>

Willow was cloistered with Jenn, the witch from Tuesday's team, leafing through tomes of arcane reference looking for anything that might help them find his missing Slayer, but every few moments she glanced at the door. He could sympathize with her nervousness; he'd only been assigned to Buffy for a few hours, and already he felt as though her safety was paramount to anything else, and he wondered if it was the same for all Watchers.

Travers had impressed upon him that he was far too incompetent to be given the care of a Slayer, or even a Potential, leaving him to run errands for the lucky few who were deemed worthy of having a hand in the fight against evil. Now, just over two years later, he was Watcher to the greatest Slayer on record. He hoped his father would be proud when he heard the news.

Of course, it would be handy to know where his Slayer was before he made any sort of announcement, or he would surely face more of his father's gentle disappointment.

"Andy, do you have the text on Djinn rituals?" he asked the surly Watcher, as he surveyed the dry erase board where he'd scribbled every theory he could devise on whatever might have taken the Slayer-General or why.

"No. I'm researching pan-terrestrial Spurin demons," Andy snapped.

"If you're behind on your private reading, would kindly catch up on your own time and look at something on the list?" he motioned to the board.

Andy smiled condescendingly at Graham and held up a dark red leather-bound tome. "The Spurin are capable of both incapacitating a victim and teleportation, but you seemed to have forgotten to put them on the list."

Graham's temper flared, but he pushed it down, "The Spurin aren't on the list because they are petrified during daylight hours, rendering them incapable of movement, let alone absconding with the Slayer-General- you'll find that on page 412 of the book you're holding. If you think you have an idea to add to the list, I'd love to hear it, but since you've just wasted two hours on a theory I was able to dismiss in thirty seconds, I'd appreciate it if you would follow instructions."

Andy looked down at the book with a frown and tossed it onto the heap of books in front of him. "I graduated from _Yale_," he told Graham, "and I've been a Watcher for over a year. You've been here a few hours, and I think it's time you learned your place."

"Yale?" Graham asked with raised eyebrows. When the other man smirked, he continued, "How quaint. I attended Cambridge. I didn't have much of a choice in the matter, though. Branscomb men have attended Cambridge for more generations than I can recall; in fact the last four generations of us have all been a part of the Watcher's Council. My mother's side of the family dates their service to the Council six generations back. I was actually a member of the Council for the last two years of its existence, and was quite lucky to have missed the bus the day of the explosion. I'd venture a guess that about the time you were reading Garfield comics, I was reading Wynton's Treatise on Witchcraft of the 16th Century. It's probably not as much fun as the kitty pictures, but it was expected of me.

"Now, just in case you're as unimpressed by my credentials as I am yours, I'm also happy to report that my 'place' is as Watcher to Buffy Summers, and since my Slayer outranks yours, I think it is absolutely my place to tell you to stop wasting my time."

"Hey, Bookman," Spike said, sweeping into the room ahead of Angel, "You dropped that name. Need me to pick it up for you?"

Willow rose before he could reply. "Did you find anything out?" she asked in a voice that wasn't quite as calm as she would have liked.

"There's a new warlock in town called Avun Vail. Demon. He may be related to a very powerful demon we killed in LA," Angel reported

"That's motive," Willow agreed. "Does he have the mojo to pull it off?"

"I don't know," Angel admitted "but Cyvus could have done it."

"Do we have a lead on his location?" she asked.

"All we know is that he's in some sort of cheap motel."

"Well, then, I guess we'll have to track him down the hard way." Willow set her mouth determinedly and strode to her laptop.

"Wouldn't it be faster to do a locator spell?" Jenn asked her, curious.

Willow shook her head. "Trying a locator spell on a demon we have so little information on is tricky, and if he's set wards for himself, it would just tell him we're coming."

Jenn nodded, watching with interest as Willow's fingers flew across the keyboard. "So, you just look to see if any of the hotels have an Avun Vail on their guest register?" she asked.

"Sure, I'll run that search on the off chance this guy's too vain or whatever to use an assumed name, but I don't expect that to pan out. Mostly, the algorithm I'm writing will look for guests that have been checked in for an extended period of time, while simultaneously compiling a list of motels that don't keep their records online. I figure the seedier ones aren't so technologically inclined, and those are the ones we're most likely to find our warlock in," Willow explained.

_The Mother, in addition to being the single most powerful Wicca in the world, is a computer hacker who nearly ended the world?_ Graham thought to himself, _I really_ must _read Mr. Giles's diaries at the earliest possible moment._

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Willow stood outside of the Palm Tree Resort Motel, which was neither be-palm treed nor resort-y, flanked by Angel and Spike. Two not-entirely human looking beings had just entered room seven, and their wildly gesturing silhouettes seemed to be arguing with somebody already in the room.<p>

"I'd really like to know what's happening in that room." Angel said, intending to try and sneak close enough for his vampiric hearing to let him eavesdrop. Then, he remembered that he didn't have vampiric hearing anymore, and he scowled instead.

Willow responded by waving her hand through the air in front of her and murmuring, "_Hoc __perspicui_." The tobacco-stained draperies that kept them from seeing anything but moving shadows rippled a moment before turning transparent, showing two be-tusked demons and another that matched Avun Vail's description.

"Nice trick, Red." Spike whistled appreciatively. "You ever think about using it to-"

"_No,_" the witch cut him off emphatically. "And for the record, watching people get it on in grungy motels… eww_. _I mean, maybe someplace with silk sheets and soft lighting, would be…" she trailed off at the shocked expression on Angel's face, "…a shocking abuse of power, and certainly not something I would ever condone."

"Right," Spike told her. "So-"

"Spike, I said 'no.'" Willow interrupted him, glad that the darkness hid most of the redness that was her face.

"I got it. No using magic for purely voyeuristic purposes, unless the room's clean, the girls are hot, and Angel's not around to ruin the mood," Spike listed the conditions on his fingers. "What I was about to ask is 'are we just going to let Vail sneak out the back, or are we going in after him?'"

Angel tore his eyes away from Willow and bit back a curse, as he charged toward the motel alongside Spike. As a team, they lowered their shoulders against the door, bursting through into the stale air of the room. A quick look around showed a messy bed and an ashtray overflowing with half-smoked butts. They bypassed the bathroom counter, which was well-stocked with bottles of Brut, to see Vail escaping through the bathroom window. Spike lunged to catch his foot, but the demon wretched out of his grasp before he could get a good grip. Once he was through, the window shrunk back what appeared to be its normal dimensions; far too small for either Angel or Spike. The two shared a look before tearing back the way they came.

Around the building they went, Spike managing to outrun Angel by a few seconds. He held out little hope that Vail would still be there, and he knew without his vampiric senses, there would be no way to track him. He made the turn around the building a little wide and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust. "Well, that's unexpected," he stated unnecessarily, looking from Vail to the little red-haired witch who was holding him suspended upside down with a gelatinous-looking mass to bind him.

Willow ignored him. "Now would be a good time to start talking," she informed the red-skinned demon in a tight voice.

"I'm sorry, is there something I can do for you? I don't think we've met before," Avun asked in a cheerful voice that made her skin crawl. "I can figure out a spell for any situation, guaranteed, but darling, I don't think you need me."

"What the hell have you done with-" Willow began, but Angel interrupted before she could let too much information go.

"Magic. We know you've used it against the Slayers."

Avun's eyes widened, "Now that spell I did for Frothi wasn't specific against Slayers! I mean, it kept them out of his vault, but only because they're human, not because they're Slayers. You can't hold that against me."

"You cast that piece for the Viking?" Spike asked. "That was a nice piece of work. Pity it didn't keep us from killing him."

"You'll excuse me if I don't use that little testimonial in my advertising, won't you?" he asked, still cheerful, until he saw Angel and his eyes began to bulge and roll in terror. "Don't kill me. Please! I can be useful! I'm not like my uncle…" he began to babble.

"You recognize me?" Angel asked, his voice low and deadly, hoping to turn this development to his advantage.

"Of course I recognize you! You were my favorite vampire in the world until right now. I had to wait a long time for somebody to off the old bastard so I could get out of town, and I got out of Big Hell Country the minute I was able." The demon thought for a minute, "So, why are you out to kill me, anyway? Is it because I'm a Vail? The old man do something to make you swear blood vengeance on the whole Clan? I'll bet that's it. Would it buy me fifteen minutes' worth of head start if I pointed out that as the head of the Vail Clan, I could have taken Cyvus's place and been a Lord in LA, but I didn't out of respect for you?"

Angel doubted 'respect' had much to do with Avun's decision. Fear had probably been a bigger motivator, but if he was telling the truth, he didn't know anything about Buffy. He stepped forward, and crouched in front of the demon, so that their heads were on the same level. "No, that does nothing for me. You know what might buy you some time? Information. You go sniff out whatever plans are in the works against the Slayers, report back to me, and I won't kill you." He gave Vail's cheek a few gentle slaps; they were demeaning, not painful.

Willow released the spell, and Avun toppled unceremoniously to the ground. He jumped to his feet more spryly than seemed possible for his bulk, and began to edge past Angel, into the alley behind them. When he was past the tall man, he broke into a trot.

"Oh, and Vail?" Angel called over his shoulder, bringing the demon to a halt. "You cast that vampire sanctuary spell again without my express consent, and I _will_ kill you." This time, he let the demon escape in a lumbering run.

"Somebody just made an enemy," Spike observed, watching the demon's progression.

"He was already an enemy, now he's just afraid enough to be cooperative," Angel countered.

"He'll be a thorn in your side until you end him or he ends you," Spike said, certainly. "Jeremy, on the other hand is going to be a top notch informant. Admit it, Peaches. I'm better at this than you are."

Angel glared at Spike. "I don't care whose informant is better, as long as one of them tells us how to find Buffy."

Willow broke into the conversation before the two men could come to blows, and wondered how Buffy managed to put up with both of them. She'd only been at it for a few hours, and she was already pooped. "I don't think _either _of them is going to be much help tonight. Let's go back to the headquarters, and see if Graham's had any luck."

Angel and Spike exchanged a grim look, and fell into line behind the diminutive witch. It felt alien to pin their hopes on an inexperienced Watcher and a Slayer team that would just as soon stake the both of them and be done with it, but it was all they had. Not for the first time, the two men wished they still had their old strengths and the old crew to help them figure things out. They fell into step behind the witch, and held tightly to the hope that better news awaited them in the library.

* * *

><p>The restaurant was dimly lit and cozy, but that wasn't the reason Xander chose it. He'd decided that what Dawn really needed was comfort food, and this place was famous for it. Watching the flickering light from their table's hurricane lamp dancing across her face while she ate a plate of meatloaf was just an added bonus.<p>

She hadn't mentioned Buffy after their conversation earlier. She fallen asleep in his arms, and he'd watched her, wanting to protect her from all the pain in the world more than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life. This wasn't the time, he knew, but as soon as they found Buffy… Well, he wasn't sure what would happen, but if he was very lucky, it would involve lips and hand-holding, and not having an unfortunate staking accident at the hands of the Slayer.

"You want dessert?" he asked her when the waitress took their plates away. They were half full, but now just didn't seem like the time for doggy bags.

Dawn shook her head. "Not really, but if we split a brownie, we can put off going back to HQ for a few more minutes."

"Dawn, you don't have to go back for the pre-patrol meeting. Nobody will think less of you, partially because they have no idea what's going on. We'll tell them you have the 'flu, or something."

She shrugged, making circles on the table with her water glass, "I'd know, and eventually I'd blab to Buffy. If, you know, she gets back. And telling the sister who jumped off a tower to save you that you couldn't pull it together long enough to make it to a meeting is some _serious_ shame."

Xander covered her hand with his own, catching her eyes with his when she looked up in surprise. "Dawnie, you have to stop comparing yourself to Buffy. It isn't fair to either of you."

"World-saving superhero, world-ending blob of energy… At least I have way better hair."

Xander ignored the joke, though he did actually agree with that point. "If Buffy knew how hard it was for you when she was gone, she'd tell you that you're the stronger of the two herself."

"No, she'd tell you I'm mercurial and prone to overreaction. There's a subtle difference."

Xander continued, as if she hadn't fired the self-depreciating comment, "There was the evil hell goddess trying to use you to destroy the world thing – which by the way takes 'no means no' to a cosmic level – and there was the dead sister thing, and the living with a sexbot designed to look like said dead sister while pretending that your dead sister wasn't dead."

"Would you please stop saying dead and sister in the same sentence? I'm a little sensitive right now."

"The point is you had way more on your plate than any fourteen year old should have to think about. Kids are supposed to be sheltered from that sort of thing until they're at least twenty."

She gave him a puzzled look, "I didn't do anything special, Xander, except get out of bed in the morning, and I might not have if that would have been an option."

"That's the point. Just losing Buffy nearly felled the rest of us, and not one of us could say with any degree of certainty that we wouldn't have curled up and died if we'd had to deal with what you went through, but you did it, and you didn't come out the other side all Rosemary's Baby."

Dawn looked at him from beneath her lashes, a blush creeping across her chin. "No, I just went nuclear on my ripped-out-of-heaven sister a few times, nearly got taken away by social services, and turned into a kleptomaniac. No big."

"Yeah, but you were a teenager. You might have done that anyway. At least you never went to juvie."

"True, which is especially useful since I never had the chance to learn if I'd retained any of my special key-like door opening properties. I could have really had fun, then. Besides, I'm still a teenager, so there's always hope," she told him with a grin.."

"Yeah," Xander was excited words were still coming out of his mouth when Dawn was smiling like that, and that they were funny ones, "but you're a teenager of the legal variety, which means it's only a technicality. Welcome to the wonderful world of being an adult, where nothing will really change except the picture on your driver's license."

"And speaking of going places, we'd probably better get to the meeting before they decide it's like college and you get to leave if the teacher is more than fifteen minutes late." Dawn rolled her eyes. She had memories of Kendra, and she'd read enough of the Watcher Journals to know that previous Slayers had treated their sacred duty as if it were, well, sacred. The new brood seemed to be infected with Buffy's irreverence.

"Is that really a rule?" Xander asked her, curious, as always about college life.

"Nope, foul rumor. My western civ professor blew a gasket once when he came in late and most of the class was gone. It was pretty ugly." She scrunched her nose at the memory.

"Nest full of vampires ugly?"

"Sure, if the vampires threw chalk at you and had the power to make you have to repeat their class."

"Moments like this, I don't miss the college experience at all." The two moved to leave the table, and noticed their still joined hands. Dawn moved to pull her hand away, but Xander held onto it firmly, both of them blushing furiously. Xander swallowed with an audible gulp before he could talk, "So, uh, you ready?"

A hundred pithy, snarky, sarcastic, and funny replies flashed through Dawn's head, but she settled for the pure, simple, truth. "I was waiting for you."

* * *

><p>In a perfect world, the Slayer pre-patrol meeting would have been uneventful, but as the world had demonstrated time and time again, it was <em>not<em> perfect, so naturally, there was chaos when Xander and Dawn arrived. The teams seemed to be separated into two camps that were shouting at one another from opposite sides of an invisible line. A few of the slayers looked like they might ignore the division in favor of some hands-on debating.

Xander sighed inwardly at the sight, his hopes for an easy night evaporating in an estrogen-fuelled puff of smoke, though this was the first time one of their shouting matches had made it into his ready-room, and he couldn't help but wonder what it was about. Once Dawn had entered the room, he pulled the door closed behind them with enough force to shock the girls into silence, though they didn't quite stop glowering at one another. The two of them made their way to the podium from which they usually conducted their business, and began sorting through the files.

"We have a full night ahead of us, and we're a team short, so listen up," Xander began, sliding into his routine, while the Slayers had the grace to look abashedly at one another. He went over business from the night before, making sure to give a detailed account of the raid on the nest that Jasmine and Buffy had staged the night before, making sure to give Jada, the witch, credit for her part in the fight. The two blushed deeply at the recognition, but seemed excited by the enthusiastic applause that Xander was glad to see from everybody in the room. Whatever the argument had been about, it hadn't been enough to cause a permanent rift between them.

"Now that we've covered last night's rounds in full, I'll open the floor for any current reports, but before I do, I want each of you to know that if I ever enter this room to see you going all 'roid-rage on one another, we'll be exploring the exciting world of disciplinary suspensions. Without pay. Do I make myself clear?"

The Slayers assembled all agreed, and he sat down so that the teams working on new cases could explain them to the room. Once he was settled in, he chanced a look at Dawn out of the corner of his eye, and was gratified to see her looking at him proudly. He smiled and sat up a little straighter, then looked to the picture of a suspected victim that Simone was passing around.

When he saw the picture of the little girl with the pale blond ringlets and blue eyes, he shot to his feet with an exclamation, "When?"

Simone jumped, and the beads on the end of her braids make a clicking sound. "I was going through some police files that I probably shouldn't have bribed my way into looking through earlier today, and found this case. The circumstances were really odd, so I made a copy to bring here. I thought maybe somebody had heard something. Is something wrong, Boss?" she asked him, concern etched across her pretty, dark face.

"That little girl belongs to a friend of mine. He's definitely not a player in the dark side of town, and if Gracie's been taken, we probably don't have much time to find her. See me after the meeting, with everything you have on the case. Who's next?" he asked, determined to get through the meeting as quickly as possible.

After several more Slayers spoke, the meeting broke up, and Xander was disheartened to find that Simone didn't have any information other than what she'd already shared. "It was a good catch," he complimented her, "finding that one before it hit the papers. I'll handle the interview; you keep working on the Grossman case, like we'd planned. When I have something to pass along, I'll give it to whatever team is between cases."

When she left, and Dawn and Xander were alone, she pulled him into her arms without a word, pulling his head down to her shoulder. "You okay?" she asked him softly.

"Yeah, but I need to get over there as soon as I can," he told her. "Will you be ok without me?"

"Sure," she shrugged, "I'll just head home and catch up on my reading."

"Fiction, or hell books?" He asked, straightening.

"Who has time to read recreationally? I'm trying to get through the Slime section of The Modern Demon Compedium, but I mostly want to hurl every time I open the book. It might be the scratch and sniff pictures that don't actually need to be scratched to smell bad."

"Clothespins work nicely," he advised her, smiling over his shoulder as he turned to the door.

"I'll keep that in mind," she grinned back as he closed it behind him. Still smiling, Dawn shuffled through her paperwork, organizing everything that needed to be filed. She was just finishing when the she heard the door click softly. "Forget something?"

"No, ma'am," the voice was a soft and feminine drawl. Dawn looked up, surprised to see a young Watcher looking at her nervously, her hands tangled in her dark hair.

"Francine," Dawn greeted her by name, "is everything ok?"

"I don't know," she said, quietly. "I was listening to the scanner, and there was something about a woman who's been beaten." Francine's sentences had the tendency to go up at the end, making them sound like questions. "She's alive, barely, but the thing that caught my attention was that they have no idea what she was beaten with. I thought it could, maybe, be something they don't know about."

"It's always better to check it out if you aren't sure. Did you happen to hear her location? I'll find somebody to go have a look." Dawn smiled reassuringly at the girl.

"I wrote everything I heard down," she handed Dawn a piece of paper that held what must have been a word for word transcription of the chatter, before hurrying out of the room, back to the safety of her office.

Dawn looked down at the page, and her blood ran cold. Unsure if she should pray the woman was or wasn't her sister, she ran to the library as fast as she could, the paper clenched in her hand.

* * *

><p>Willow snapped her phone shut, a grim expression on her face. "That was Dawn."<p>

Spike interrupted her before she could continue, "Who's got the Slayer?"

Willow looked at him, and the fear in her eyes brought him up short. "Maybe nobody. A call came through at headquarters. They've found a woman who _could_ be Buffy, but the details are pretty sketchy." The last thing she wanted was to get their hopes up.

"Why do they think it's her?" Angel asked, his voice dark.

"The height, weight, and rough age are the same, and she has blond hair. Other than that… She's been beaten beyond recognition. The police can't figure out what did the beating, and it caught the attention of a Watcher, who passed it along to Dawn."

Angel and Spike shared a long look. It was bad enough to think that Buffy might have been incapacitated, but neither could imagine something capable of beating Buffy that badly. "Let's go," Angel said tersely, and Spike nodded, falling in behind the older man.

Willow led them through the streets, and ten long minutes later, the three of them found the woman in an alley. Angel exchanged quiet words with the police officers, explaining that they were looking for a friend of theirs, and they let the three of them closer, hoping they'd be able to identify the woman.

She was a mass of bruises and cuts, each delivered with surgical precision to inflict damage without killing. After a quick look, Willow shook her head to signify that she couldn't tell anything, and turned away with tears in her eyes. Spike reached out gently, and pushed back a swollen eyelid with his thumb, revealing an unseeing brown eye. He stood, and breathed a sigh of relief that Angel shared.

"It's not her," Angel said softly to the Willow, and she sagged with relief.

"It didn't feel like Buffy, but I'm not sure if somebody beaten into a coma…" she trailed off, then continued, "would really still feel the same. Any ideas what did this to her?"

"Could be any number of nasties, I'm sad to say." Spike told her as they stepped back to let the paramedics work. "Probably wasn't human, damage like that. Whatever it was, it knew how to have a real good time." Willow and Angel looked at him in horror. "I didn't say it was _my_ idea of a good time. Anymore." Spike defended himself, "And don't give me that pious look Peaches, was a time you would have made the same slip of the tongue."

Angel didn't bother refuting Spike's claim; everybody would have known he was lying, anyway. "Willow, you should stay with her. She may wake up after they get her to the hospital…"

The red-haired witch nodded. "We'll need to know what did this to her, especially if it isn't human. She turned back to the girl, reaching out to take her hand, and trying to funnel some of her own energy into the nearly-lifeless form.

"We'll head back to headquarters, and tell everybody what we saw here. It could be a coincidence that a woman matching Buffy's description was beaten nearly to death the same night that she goes missing, but there's a possibility this is connected to Buffy, and the information might help Graham figure out what we're up against," Angel decided.

Willow nodded her agreement. "I'll call if her condition changes. Let me know if you learn anything. And, Angel?" He raised his eyebrows, "Don't be too hard on Dawn. She was there for the Pre-patrol meeting when she heard about this." The paramedics chose that moment to move the girl, sparing Angel from thinking up an answer. The truth was he hadn't even had time to think about Dawn's involvement.

He walked away from the scene without a word, trusting Spike to fall in step beside him. Only a block later, both men stopped dead in their tracks. Spike recovered first, sprinting toward the form sitting in a bus stop beneath a bright street lamp. Her knees were drawn up in front of her, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, and her eyes stared, unseeingly ahead.

The shock of finding Buffy, especially in such an unlikely place, dissipated, and Angel chased Spike to the woman they both loved. When he reached them, Spike was already on his knees before the Slayer, speaking soothingly to her, and brushing her tangled and blood-spattered hair back behind her ear. He was reminded of the night she came back, when she seemed unable to make sense of the world in front of her. Finally, she tore her gaze away from the space in front of her, as if she'd only just noticed she wasn't alone.

"Spike?" she sounded bewildered and afraid.

"Yeah, love, it's me. You hurt?" he asked, looking her over and cataloguing the bruises and scratches that were already healing. She held up her hands, where her knuckles were torn and oozing blood, and Spike laughed humorlessly, "You give 'em a fight, then, pet? We were worried about you."

"Buffy, where were you?" Angel asked, his voice pleading her to tell him where to go and who to kill.

She looked at him blankly, "Were? I… don't know."

Without another word, Angel swept Buffy into his arms, and began to carry her back to the house. Spike trotted alongside, calling Willow, Xander, and Dawn in turn to give them the good news. They were all ecstatic, but Spike was more reserved. She was back, but long years of treading the darkness told him that all was not yet well on the Hellmouth.

Buffy fell asleep against Angel's chest after only a few minutes, and as the blocks rolled past, his energy began to fade.

"I could take her, if you're starting to feel your age, Peaches." Spike offered with a smirk, but Angel ignored him, though his pace slowed with every step. "There's no shame in admitting your weakness, mate," Spike continued to antagonize the older man.

Finally, only a few blocks from home, Angel began to worry that he might drop the Slayer, or fall, causing her more injury. He handed her to Spike, who flashed his cockiest grin. "What?" Angel asked, irritated and out of breath.

"You look like a mess. You're winded, pale, and a bit ripe. I, on the other hand, am fresh as a daisy," he told his grandsire with glee.

Angel narrowed his eyes. "You did this on purpose."

Spike snorted. "You didn't stop to think that I let you sweep the girl up like the big hero out of generosity, did you?"

"You think this is going to earn you points?"

"She wakes up when I gently lay her in her bed, and sees me all handsome and caring, while you look like death warmed over? Can't hurt, can it? Of course, you could hope she doesn't wake up and duck into the shower straight away."

Angel gritted his teeth. "You're a creep, Spike. You really are."

"Oh, just admit you're jealous you didn't think of it first." Spike laughed.

"You have me there. But Spike?" Angel's eyes met his, "I _will_ get you back for this."

"'Bout bloody time. I was getting tired of playing nice, Peaches." Spike practically skipped ahead; the Slayer was in his arms, he was winning in the never-ending tug-of-war between him and Angel… As far as he was concerned, the evening had taken an unexpected turn for the better.

Angel watched him, a smile spreading across his face that the blond man couldn't see. He knew that the reprieve was temporary, but it was nice to feel like things were almost back to normal.

**Thanks again for reading (again), and if you were to feel like clicking the link below and leaving a review, I'd be much obliged.**


	11. Here Nor There

**A/N: So, it's been forever, I know, and I apologize. Life's been crazy for me, been crazy for my betas, and I'll bet it's been crazy for you, too. C'mon, admit it: it's been a long, hot summer, and the crazy just keeps on a-comin'. I finally have chapter 11 for you, and it's pretty apparent at this point that I'm going to need two chapters for the finale, so that's coming up the pipe.**

**Turn the Hourglass Over has been nominated at the SunnyD Awards, and I'm absolutely thrilled about it. I can't really post a link here, because of ff (dot) net rules, and by the time I replaced the dots and slashes, it would be just as simple to Google it. Hourglass has been nominated in several categories, I've been nominated for Best New Writer, and AllyPetals has been nominated for best beta. I hope all of you will head over there for a couple reasons: firstly, I'd really appreciate the votes and secondly, there are some truly great stories nominated over there. Give 'em a read, but I hope you'll still want to vote for me when you're done! Voting opens August 1, 2011 and ends August 31, 2011.  
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**As always, I need to give a big shout out to the Imperfectionist and to AllyPetals; I absolutely could not do it without them. Also, a big thank you to everybody who reviewed, or added me or this story to a favorites or update list. You collectively rock my face.**

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><p>"<em>Seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow, I'm neither here nor there."<em>

_-Soul Asylum  
><em>

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><p><em>Chapter 10<em>

"Just get the bloody bandages." She had been hearing the voices for a while- how long had it been - but until now, they'd just been noise in the background, throbbing in time to ache in her head.

"What makes you the expert on First Aid?" another male voice asked, irritated.

"Because, I've patched up Buffy and the Bit more times than I can count." _That's me, she realized: Buffy. Buffy am I. Buffy. _The name seemed all sad and alone, like maybe there should be more, but there wasn't.

"And that only proves you can't keep them safe. I've been doing the whole fighting alongside people thing longer. I'm qualified," the second voice argued. _Wow, those two should really get a room, _Buffy thought_, and apparently they aren't really people. Should I be more surprised by that than I am?_ Her consciousness must have drifted away again, because the next thing she knew was a stinging in her knuckles that made her eyes snap open.

"Have a nice nap, pet?" the voice was soothing, and the blue eyes that seemed to go with it filled her vision. The terror that shot through her when she awoke faded almost instantly. Whoever was patching her up was somebody her body seemed to trust. He rambled on, "We were dead worried about you, love. Red made with the mojo, tryin' to find you and me an' Peaches went to every demon joint we could find, all for naught. Then, there you were, right in front of us when we least expected." He tore a piece of tape with his teeth, and used it to secure the bandages that he'd wound around her hands while he talked. When he was finished, he raised her right hand and pressed a gentle kiss atop the doctored knuckles.

"Thank you." Buffy's voice was small as she took her hand back and cradled it against her chest, "It hurts less." The door opened again, and a large man came through, juggling an ice pack, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a glass of water. She didn't know him any more than she knew the blond man, but she felt like she should.

"You're awake," Angel said, relief coursing through his body. He set everything down on the night stand, and sat on the bed. She drew her legs up, closer to her chest, but her instincts told her that this man, too, was one she could trust. She really wished she knew why, or how she knew. Or, you know, their names. Surely, knowing their names wasn't too much to ask.

"What happened?" she asked, cursing that her voice was unsteady. She was pretty sure she wasn't an unsteady sort of girl. At least not when anybody was looking.

"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us, Buffy." The dark eyed man confirmed her name, and she felt absurdly pleased.

"I can't remember," she admitted, curling more tightly, her eyes shifting to meet Spike's blue ones. "Anything. I can't remember anything."

"Not surprising, what with the knot on your pretty forehead, love. I'm Spike, and this is Angel," he said matter-of-factly, pushing down the urge to make a dig at the older man. "We used to be vampires, but we both had souls, and fought the good fight. Now, we're human, but we're still here to lend a hand and watch your back."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "You used to be… dead. Right?" It made no sense at all, but she knew it was true when she said it.

"Yeah," he agreed softly, before he continued, "but, everybody in this room used to have a slight case of the not-living, pet."

"That's why I keep seeing you with a sword in your chest, isn't it?" she asked, turning to Angel.

He swallowed, wishing he could take her into his arms, but it seemed unfair, under the circumstances. "It was the only way to stop a demon named Acathla from pulling the planet into a hell dimension."

Buffy nodded, more flashes coming into her head, most of them involving violence and creatures that _should_ cause nightmares. Another person she didn't recognize entered the room, almost timidly and closed the door softly behind herself. This one was a slender girl with red hair, and she was looking at Buffy with a worried expression that bordered on terror.

"New bird's called Willow; she's one of your best mates." Spike offered an explanation before Buffy had to voice the question. "She's the one made with the mojo, trying to get you back."

Willow's eyes flashed to Spike. "She doesn't remember?"

Despite the fear and the confusion bouncing around her head, Buffy's eyes sparked. "'_She's_ right here and awake. No need to treat me like I'm brain-damaged, just because, you know, I might _actually be_ brain-damaged."

"Yep. She's Buffy alright," Willow said with a shy half-smile at her best friend. "They haven't figured out how to manufacture that kind of sarcasm in a laboratory yet. We're really glad you're back, Buffy. Especially Dawn - that's your sister - she was beside herself when you disappeared. We all were."

"Sorry." Now that Buffy's anger had dissipated, she felt hollow. "I'm tired," she told them, taking the ibuprofen Angel offered her, and putting the ice pack on the lump on the head.

"That means hit the road, busters. Not literally, I mean you can wait downstairs, but figuratively."

"And I suppose you'll be up here holding her hand while we cool our heels in front of the telly, right?" Spike asked her with raised eyebrows that silently added 'not in this lifetime.'

Angel ignored Spike, and launched his own argument against Willow's plan. "She might need us. It's not safe to leave her until we know where she went."

"And, what, you think poor little Willow can't watch out for her? Hello, almost destroyed the world single handedly? Activated all the Potential Slayers? I could probably take on a couple vampires, if I needed to, and now that you're all human, it wouldn't even be a challenge. I mean, I wouldn't do it because, you know, that would be bad. And then, I'd get all black-haired and veiny, which, by the way, ewww. But, I could…" Willow trailed off, thinking frantically. "I could give you tummy aches. Or itchy feet!"

"Itchy feet?" Angel asked incredulously.

"Have you ever had a really itchy foot? It's impossible to scratch with a shoe on, and then you either have to take your shoe off in public or just suffer."

"You _are_ terrifying, Red," Spike told her, deadpan, turning toward the door. "Sleeping Beauty wakes up from her nap, yours truly had better be the first to know."

Angel hesitated, looking longingly at Buffy. It went against every instinct to leave her unprotected, but Willow made a good point; right now he wasn't best-suited for protection duty. The idea made his stomach clench, and not for the first time, he wondered if becoming human hadn't been a terrible mistake.

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><p>Greg's place was crawling with all the cops you'd expect to see at the home of a kidnapped little girl, but luckily for Xander, they weren't paying the slightest bit of attention to Greg. He was able to walk right into the apartment, unnoticed, where he found his friend sitting on the couch with a dazed expression.<p>

"Greg," Xander caught his attention, and the man stood, towering over him. They clasped one another in a gruff, manly hug, slapping each other entirely too hard on the back. "What happened?" he asked, once they'd parted.

Greg fell back onto the sofa, running a hand over his bald head, and Xander sat down next to him, so that they could talk quietly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Nobody does."

"You'd be surprised," he encouraged. "I've seen some pretty strange things in my time."

Greg took a deep breath, before he began, eyes focused on his hands, "Me an' Gracie went to the carnival." Xander nodded, remembering how excited the girl was about it when he'd seen her a few days before. "She needed to go to the bathroom, and she's too old to go into the men's room now, so I sent her into the ladies room on her own, and waited next to the door. When she hadn't come out after five minutes, I asked a lady to check on her, but she was gone."

"What's hard to believe about that?" Xander asked him, hoping there wasn't more, that his friend wouldn't have to deal with learning about the darker side of life on top of losing his niece.

"There was only one door, an' no windows." Greg told him, shaking his head as though he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around the facts. "There was only one woman followed her in there, and I saw her come out before I sent that other lady in to check on her. Only reason the cops don't think I did something to her was we ran into Arnie and his boys not five minutes before."

"Carpenter Arnie or Electrical Arnie?" Xander asked, filing that information away.

"Electrical. You know he has those twins just a year older 'n Gracie? We talked about taking 'em swimming together next weekend." Greg slumped forward, elbows on his knees, "People don't just disappear, Xander. Where'd she go?"

"Any chance the lady you saw might have smuggled her out?" Xander bit his tongue to keep from adding 'like Mexican firecrackers' to the end of the question. Glib remarks were how he and the Scoobies dealt with the stress of their world, but he was pretty sure Greg wouldn't understand that.

"Not that I could see. She didn't have a big coat on, or anything, but she…" the big man trailed off, with a shudder.

"She what?" Xander asked, his heart falling. Somehow, deep down, he knew there'd be a 'but'.

"Nothing, exactly. It's just that…" he trailed off again, as if he couldn't make himself finish a sentence about the woman he'd seen.

"Greg, man, whatever it is, I promise I've seen worse. I've heard worse." Xander reached out, and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You can trust me."

Greg looked at him with bleak eyes, "When she walked out, we made eye contact, and for just a second – less than that – I thought I saw something else. Something that keeps me from closing my eyes for more than a second."

Xander sighed, and took his hand back. He'd never appreciated how tough it must have been for Buffy to talk to the people who'd just gotten a glimpse into the shadows. Sure, he'd helped round up some of the new Slayers, but between the superpowers and the dreams, they already had an idea that there was more to the world than they'd thought. "Greg," he told his friend in a solemn tone, "the bad news is that there's a whole lot of stuff you don't know about, and that stuff is probably responsible for kidnapping Gracie. The good news is that I know people who can help you."

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><p>Dawn didn't look up from the page she was supposed to be trying to decipher, but part of her attention had been diverted to trying to place the rhythm that Graham was absently tapping on the table in front of him. <em>That, <em>she thought_, is the problem with rhythm._ _It all sounds familiar, but you never know what you're hearing until the melody starts._

Graham paused a moment to push his steel-framed reading glasses higher on the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Mr. Giles isn't a good friend to prose, is he?" he asked with a motion to the diary he was reading. "Fascinating stuff here, but I've read cookbooks with more gripping narrative."

Dawn giggled, remembering Spike saying something similar the night they'd broken into The Magic Box. Hell gods aside, she missed the days when she'd thought of Spike as somebody she could count on. She'd been glad to find him alive in the kitchen that day, but reality was creeping back daily, and she wasn't sure she could forgive him as easily as her sister had. Then again, maybe dying to save the world earned a second chance. She sighed, thinking about how complicated things could be, if you let them.

"That sigh tells me you agree, but are far too kind to say so," he said with a smile. "Alternately, it tells me you're bored out of your mind, and wish to be far, far away."

"Nah," she told him conspiratorially, "I figured out the key to overcoming boredom in the library years ago." She tipped the huge leather bound tome she was reading toward him, revealing a gossip magazine tucked into its pages. "Sometimes you just need a break from the slime and pustules."

Graham barked a laugh. "While your company does make the library a bit less dreary, there's no need for you to stay, if you'd rather be elsewhere. Maybe at home with your sister."

Dawn hesitated, then dropped her book on the table and pushed it away. "I think they have it under control without me for now."

"I'm sure Buffy would want her sister there," he assured her, hoping it was true.

"And I want to be there, but there's no way anybody is going to keep Spike and Angel from standing guard, and Willow actually needs to be there to see if she can figure out what happened to her. Add in the fact that Buffy hates it when people make a big deal out of it when she's at less than a hundred percent, and here seems like the best place to be."

"That's a very mature way of looking at the situation," Graham said, impressed. "I'm not sure I could do it, if I were in your situation."

"Yeah, not so bad for a five-year-old, huh?" Dawn asked absently, pulling her magazine back toward herself.

"Let me guess, you were born on Leap Day?" he asked, familiar with the joke.

"Nope. Wasn't born at all. I guess you haven't gotten that far, have you?"

Graham's mind raced, as he considered the possibilities that fit in with Dawn's rather cryptic statement. "No, I suppose not." By the time he finished speaking, he'd considered and discarded half a dozen theories about her origins.

"Well, I won't ruin the surprise," she told him with a smirk. "It's a real twist. How far _are_ you?"

"Mr. Giles is waiting for Angel to bring him a copy of _The Pergamum Codex_. He's amused by the irony of a vampire being in love with the Slayer."

Dawn nodded. "That was right before she died the first time. I didn't know Buffy was the Slayer yet, and when I saw her walking with him one time, I thought she was dating a college boy and threatened to tell Mom unless she did the dishes for a week."

"When _did_ you find out about it?" Graham asked interestedly. The Council had maintained a policy of separating Slayers and Potentials from their families whenever possible, to keep the Slayer focused on their tasks, and to keep the families safe from a Slayer's enemies. A sister, especially one who'd lived to adulthood was a rarity, and this one was pretty, to boot.

"Probably about a year later. I heard her and Mom fighting about it. It was right before she ran away that summer, after she sent Angel to that hell dimension."

Graham blinked. "Buffy sent Angel to hell?"

"No choice. Well, I guess there _was_ a choice. She could have let the whole world get sucked into hell instead, but since Angelus opened the portal to start with, it seemed fair."

Graham nodded. "This would be when Angel lost his soul, and rejoined Spike and Drusilla."

"You knew about that?" she asked, surprised.

Graham reddened. "Spike is – _was_ the Watcher equivalent of one of those celebrities," he motioned to her magazine. "We tended to keep up with him, and when he teamed up with Angelus again, it was a very exciting time. Also, terrifying," he backpedaled at her incredulous look.

Dawn rolled her eyes and motioned to Giles's diaries, "So, what else do you want to know?"

* * *

><p>Buffy opened her eyes, saw the red haired girl peering at her with a worried expression, and closed them again, deciding that light was not really her friend. She groaned aloud at the ringing and pounding behind her eyes.<p>

"I'm still thinking maybe we should do something wacky like take you to a hospital," she heard the girl say in an unforgivably loud voice.

"No hospitals, Will," Buffy told her, voice still weak. "I'll be good as new, once that whole Slayer healing thing kicks in."

"You called me Will!" the witch exclaimed proudly. "Unless you were just remembering being introduced again, and taking a lucky guess at a nickname."

Buffy shook her head and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. "I knew."

"Remembering is good news; it's a start." The witch's infectious enthusiasm was less infectious than she'd hoped. After a long minute of silence, Buffy spoke.

"I didn't remember, exactly. I just knew. Everything else is still foggy."

"But foggy means it might clear up, right?" Willow asked hopefully.

Buffy didn't respond; she just rested her head against her knees, trying desperately to force a memory to the surface, where she could put it in a full Nelson and make it tell her where its friends were hiding out. "Why can't I remember anything?"

Willow gave her a helpless look. "I'm not sure. It's like you have some sort of big anti-magic shell around you. Everything I try to touch you with just becomes… null. If I couldn't see you and touch you, I'd swear you weren't actually here."

"Maybe I'm not," Buffy pointed out. "I mean, I'm not all there, am I?" she motioned to her head, careful to avoid contact.

"It's something to consider, I guess. We still don't know much. Or, you know, anything, if you're me." Willow's eyes lit up, "Oh, what if I start just talking about normal everyday things? Maybe some good, old-fashioned gossip'll make your head' all function-y again."

"Couldn't hurt," Buffy agreed, giving the witch a half-smile. "Go ahead, and hit me with all the latest and greatest in wherever we are. Only, you know, don't actually hit, or I might end up in a coma."

While Willow babbled, Buffy listened, and tried to lose herself in the words. Every now and again, the witch's words would solidify in her head; Xander, Hellmouth, and Dawn all meant something, but Willow had steered clear of the two names she wanted to hear about the most. In fact, Willow had been avoiding anything romantic, she realized. Either they were a house full of clergy, and given the two men she'd awakened to she had her doubts, or Willow was hiding something.

"Ok, Will," Buffy told her matter-of-factly, her voice regaining its strength, "spill. What aren't you telling me?"

Willow's eyes widened in surprise. "Nothing! I swear, if I knew anything about what was going on, I'd tell you."

Buffy rolled her eyes, mostly because it seemed like the appropriate response to Willow's single-mindedness. "Not about that, ya mook. You're skimping on the juicy stuff, and I want to know why I haven't heard a word about your love life. Or mine, for that matter, and keep in mind if you tell me I don't have one, I'll scream and see if the two hotties downstairs agree with you."

"There is not a pole long enough to make me touch the crazy that is your love life, Buffy." Willow smiled at her friend.

"So tell me about yours," The Slayer prompted.

"I have a girlfriend," Willow offered, shyly. "Her name is Kennedy. She's the Slayer in charge of the training grounds in Vermont."

"Kennedy: dark hair, kind of bossy, right?"

"If you ever tell her I agreed with you, I'll tell her you're a liar and a scoundrel, and she'll believe me," Willow told her conspiratorially.

"So what's the what with you here and her there?" Buffy asked.

Willow shrugged. "As head of the training ground, she's the number three Slayer in the Organization. There was no way she could turn that down, and I wouldn't have wanted her to. We see each other whenever we can."

"So why are you here, then? Not that I don't appreciate you being here, and all." Buffy gave her an impish grin. "Probably."

"When she took over, we hadn't been together long enough to make it to the give up all that I hold dear to be close to you stage of our relationship, and besides, I'm needed here."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the red head. "And how long have you been together now?"

Willow hung her head. "A little over two years."

"And is that long enough to get to the give it all up to be with you stage?"

"I don't know," Willow admitted, sheepishly. "I haven't gotten there yet."

"And that is so not the end point of that conversation," Buffy prompted her.

Willow rose, and paced across the room, to Buffy's dresser. Nervous fingers reached out and plucked a worn photograph from the mirror's edge. A few bits and pieces had come to Buffy from the ruins of Sunnydale in an unmarked box that she'd always thought Riley might have had a hand in delivering. She remembered the day Riley had taken it, shortly after Giles had purchased The Magic Box. Xander and Anya sat next to one another, comfortably, like they'd be doing it for another fifty years. Spike squatted next to Buffy, his arm slung possessively around her chair. He'd used vampiric speed to rush into the shot, smirking at Riley, just as he was taking the picture, and somehow her resulting glare almost looked like adoration. Giles was perched on the edge of the table, a satisfied expression on his face, likely pride in his shop and his Slayer. Then her eyes fell upon the woman whose face she tried not to think about every night as she fell asleep. Tara, frozen forever, looking up at her like somebody seeing the sun for the first time.

Willow closed her eyes, trying to block the image of Tara from her mind. "I miss Tara, everyday," she began, hoping that the name would jog a memory, because she was afraid if she stopped to explain, she wouldn't be able to start again. "I love Kennedy, but I don't miss her every day, and that makes me more lonely than not seeing her. Buffy, I'm terrified I'll never feel that way about anybody again, and I _want_ to. Does that make sense?" When Buffy didn't reply, Willow opened her eyes, and turned toward the bed, finding it empty.

"Oh, boy," she said helplessly, sliding her cell phone out of her pocket to delay breaking the news to Angel and Spike.

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><p>"So, the thing that put Spike on the path of righteousness was-"<p>

"An electronic chip put in his brain, courtesy of the US Army," Dawn finished with a smile.

Graham shook his head. "The details of why there was a sudden change in Spike's behavior were always sketchy, and by that, I mean non-existent, of course. All we knew was that he'd suddenly started working with the Slayer from time to time; then all of a sudden he goes to Africa and comes back with a soul. When he died saving the world, it was like the big ending of one of those epic action films, but nobody could figure out _why_ it happened. To think it was all because of a little piece of silicon."

"Silicon?" Dawn shook her head. "Spike didn't get a soul because of the chip."

"Why, then?" Graham actually moved forward to the edge of his seat, eyes glittering like a child on Christmas Eve.

Dawn gave him a long look that he couldn't quite decipher. "Because he tried to rape my sister."

A thunderous silence fell between them, and Graham looked down. "That must have been horrifying," he said quietly. "For both of them."

"Are you standing up for him?" Dawn snapped.

Graham looked at her, shaken, "No, of course not. It's just that…" Graham weighed his words, not sure if he should continue or not. "There is no record of Spike ever having raped anybody, even during his most brutal." Graham pulled off his glasses, and sat them on the table, rubbing the red spot on his nose where they rested. "If his reaction was to go and seek a soul, he must have been deeply disturbed by his actions. A vampire seeking out a soul would be like a human beating on the door of death row and demanding to be executed, or perhaps demanding to be thrown into solitary confinement for an eternity would be a better analogy."

"So, I should just forgive him because he's really sorry?" Dawn asked with a raised eyebrow. "Just forget the fact that I _trusted_ him when nobody else did, and call it even?"

"No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply that you were wrong for being angry," Graham assured her. "I've studied Spike for years, and I know his CV practically by heart. That he tried to be anything other than evil at all is as mind boggling as, say, Britney Spears spending three months working in a soup kitchen without it being a condition of her probation. You'd be right to suspect that her motivations aren't entirely altruistic, but her supervisor would still have every right to be angry when she didn't show up to fulfill her responsibilities. Being angry on your sister's behalf _is_ justified, Dawn. In fact, holding a grudge against people who tried to hurt your sibling is practically a pre-requisite for the job."

Dawn laughed, though the sound was dry. "I'm shocked you know who Britney Spears even is."

Graham flashed a half smile at her, raising an eyebrow, "I'm shocked you assume I'm out of touch with pop culture. It's because Mr. Giles and I share an accent, isn't it? You think I'm a hundred years old."

"I'll try to remember that you're young and hip," Dawn told him, rolling her eyes. She was quiet a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was quiet, "I just can't believe she's ok with it, you know? It's like she forgot all about it after he got a soul."

"How annoying for her to forgive somebody you hate on her behalf," Graham told her seriously.

Dawn laughed again, but this time, there was genuine amusement in the sound, "Yeah, something like that, I guess. Maybe the five-year-old isn't as mature as she thought."

"Now that's a story I'm dying to hear. Any chance you'll give me the Cliff's Notes version now, so it won't seem as boring when I read up on it later tonight?" he asked, hopefully.

"Sure, for a few millennia, I was a Key. Some monks made me all fleshy a few years ago and sent me to be protected by the Slayer. They did a real good job with the oogley-boogley to make it seem like I'd always existed, and voila: instant sister."

"What were they trying to protect you from? If you survived as a key for thousands of years, what changed?"

"Evil hell god named Glory. Wanted to go home, and end the world in the process."

"You're _that_ Key?"

"How many are there?" she asked, surprised.

"Probably millions. You have to figure there are as many keys as there are things that lock," he reasoned with a shrug.

"Yeah, but how do you know about me?" she pressed, curiously.

"I don't know exactly what happened, but I do know that Travers and part of the Council went to visit Sunnydale, and came back crazy to find everything they could about Glorificus and the Key, that is, you. I was newly-inducted, so they locked me in the library with coffee and a bucket. And books, lots of books." He regarded Dawn silently, impressed with the strength it must have taken to survive what she'd been through without losing her ability to laugh or smile.

Before he could do anything as foolish as tell her what he was thinking, his cell phone rang. He answered it, and spent a few minutes on the line, talking as vaguely as possible. Finally, he flipped it shut, and regarded Dawn soberly. "That was Willow," he explained as quickly as possible, in case the Band-Aid analogy held true. "Buffy's gone again."

* * *

><p>Willow's steps were heavy as she trudged down the steps to break the news to Spike and Angel. She wished she actually had something to tell them besides, 'we were talking about my love life, and she just poofed out.'<p>

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, the good-natured argument the two men were having stopped abruptly, and the room was silent, except for the baseball game on the television. Angel stood abruptly, a smile lighting his handsome face. "Is she awake again? Can we see her?"

Spike's eyes narrowed when she hesitated, then spoke, "Yeah, she woke up."

"And then what happened?" he asked, knowing the answer before she said anything. Finding Buffy like that had been too simple, too easy, and easy had never been an option for them.

"We were talking, and she was starting to remember a little bit, and then she was gone." The witch snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

The color drained from Angel's face, taking the eager expression with it, and he fell back onto the couch with a graceless _plop_.

"Any chance you were able to use the mojo to figure out _where_ she went this time?" Spike asked, his jaw clenching so that the muscles stood out.

"I tried every spell I could think of, but there's no sign that Buffy was even in that room, let alone anything that might lead us to her. She's just _gone._" Willow's voice was small, crushed under the weight of guilt and fear.

"You were supposed to _protect_ her." Angel's voice was still shocked and blank, but when his eyes met Willow's there was a spark of cold anger.

"Angel, there was nothing to protect her _from_," she tried to explain. "Buffy was there, and then she was gone."

Angel stood, and Willow shivered at the tightly expression on his face. She'd seen Angel upset, and concerned, and she'd almost been a snack for Angelus once upon a time, but she'd never seen him truly angry before now. He shook with barely suppressed rage as he swept to the door, taking his coat from the rack, and sliding into it so that the leather popped forcefully. Spike was beside him in an instant, duster in place, ready for whatever lay ahead.

"Angel, where are you going? We don't even know where to start looking," Willow tried to reason with him.

"I'm going to find Buffy and get her back," Angel snarled at the witch. "And you'd better hope she's in one piece when I do, because I'm holding you personally responsible for every scratch." He stormed from the room.

Spike shot an apologetic look at Willow, who looked like she'd had all the air knocked from her chest. "I'd say he doesn't mean it, pet, but I think he actually might," he told her. "Get everybody working on this, and I'll try to slow Captain Forehead down before he does something more noble stupid than usual." Spike shook his head, and walked away, muttering under his breath, "Angel loses his bloody temper, and it's up to me to make peace with the natives."

Willow watched the two mean leave, trembling at the thought of what Angel might do in his state of worry. Acid churned in her stomach, and she swallowed it back, before she grabbed her keys, and rushed out into the night.

* * *

><p>"Man, I always knew there were things you didn't tell me. You get that look in your eyes sometimes, like a soldier seen too much, or a man who done time. Never figured you for a jailbird, but I never figured those battles involved hell spawn, neither." Greg shook his head in amazement.<p>

"And, hell gods. Don't forget the hell gods. God knows I never forget the hell god. Goddess. Did I mention she was crazy?" Xander asked.

"So, these Slayers… You really think they got a shot at getting Gracie back?" Greg asked him hopefully.

"I think they have a better shot than the well-meaning boys in blue." Xander motioned to the police officers, still milling around.

"What's something like that gonna cost me? Don't matter how much you say, you know I'm good for it," Greg rushed to assure him. "Just might take some time."

"Whoa, slow down, Nelly," Xander stuttered, shocked. "We don't charge people to save their loved ones from demons. Action, and sometimes a whole mess of scars or missing body parts, is our reward. We could use some information, though. Whatever took her put effort into taking her somewhere else, which makes me think it wasn't random. If we figure out why they wanted her, we have a better shot at figuring out who has her."

"She's seven. Outside of her favorite cartoons and snack, there's not a lot of information to have. She hasn't had time yet to-" Greg stopped as his voice cracked.

Xander looked at him with sympathetic eyes. "You're right. At seven it's less likely that it's something she's _done_ than something she _is_."

Greg composed himself. "She was my baby brother's little girl. He wasn't but eighteen when she was born and his girlfriend was a couple years younger. Kids that age have a baby, and nobody really wishes 'em well, you know? But, Mikey was a good kid. Got himself a job working nights in a factory, so he could be at home with Gracie during the day while Christie was at school. And, Christie, god she was a sweet girl, but she had issues," he shook his head, remembering his brother's too short, too hard life.

"What kind of issues?" Xander prompted him, hoping there'd be more than just bad memories in the story.

"Mental ones, I think. She had these dreams… Night terrors, I believe they call 'em. Poor girl was afraid to sleep, drank coffee all night to try and stay awake."

"Any idea what kind of nightmares she had?" Xander asked, thinking he'd found a clue, after all.

"Mikey said that it was like a never-ending horror movie in her head. Sometimes, she couldn't wake up, and I'd see him all covered in bruises. He never _said_ she did it, but I could guess."

"_Jinkies_," Xander said softy.

Greg looked at his friend with wide eyes. "You don't think she was one of 'em, do you? 'Cause she always seemed like a good kid, and that would make Gracie part whatever, and there ain't the first thing bad about that little girl."

"A demon? No, man, I don't think Christie was a demon," Xander assured him.

"But you think she was something, don't you?" Greg pressed.

Xander's cell phone began to chirp, and he pulled it out to find a message from Willow_. Buffy is gone, _it read, _we need you back ASAP._

"Greg, I have to go, but I promise I'm going straight back to put a team to work on this. We're going to find Gracie," he promised, opening the phone and heading for the door.

* * *

><p>"Angel, mate, this is a bad idea," Spike rushed to keep up with the taller man who tore through the alley like a demon on a mission, which was only half true.<p>

"I'm not your mate, and I care enough to do anything to find Buffy, even if you don't," Angel ground out.

"Anything except listen to reason, apparently." Spike snapped, "Do you think Jeremy's going to be sitting in that hole, just waiting for you to shake him down again? You have to think, man."

"That's rich coming from you, Mr. I-had-a-plan-but-I-got-bored." Angel kept striding through the maze of allies, never looking back at the younger man.

"Exactly, and if even I can tell that you're being rash, don't you think it might be a good idea to stop and think things through?" Spike pleaded with him. He didn't trust Angel like this, and between difference in size and their newly human muscles, he didn't think he could restrain him. Knock him out and leave him hog-tied behind a dumpster, sure, but restrain him? Probably not.

"I tell you what," Angel whirled to face him, an uncharacteristic snarl on his face, "you go back and talk things over with the damn witch that let her go to start with, and I'll go do what needs to be done to find her."

Not for the first time, Spike wondered if becoming human and having an uncompromised soul had blurred the line between Angel and Angelus just a bit. Poufter was still noble, but he he'd only seen that savage look in his grand-sire's eyes once since he'd snacked on that gypsy girl in the1890s. "Red didn't _let_ the Slayer go anywhere," _oh how the mighty have fallen,_ he thought rolling his eyes inwardly, _defending the prats that hated me not a year and a half ago._ "I don't think she was completely _here_ to start with. Whatever took her still had part of her."

"Why are you fighting me on this, Spike? You don't have the stomach to rough up some demons, fine, but why are you trying to stop me?" Angel's jaw clenched.

"Because, you idiot, if you go in there demanding to know who's taken the Slayer or where they've taken her, they all know she isn't here, and all her hard work to stabilize this little hamlet goes down the drain. If you think she'll thank you for that, you're sadly mistaken." Spike said, his own anger starting to shine through.

Angel took a stride forward, so that he was only inches from the blond man, and lowered his head to lock eyes with him. "I'll live with it, if she's alive."

"Not about what _you_ can live with Peaches, it's about what _she_ can live with," Spike spat at him. "You an' me, we tossed around the word 'Champion' like it meant something attached to the likes of us. Buffy's the real thing, and she's given up everything she ever loved or valued for the greater good, 'cept her kid sister. She gave her own life to keep from making _that_ sacrifice. If you think she could live with you compromising that for her safety, you know even less about her than I thought."

Spike never saw the swing as Angel's fist collided with his jaw. There was only quick jolt, a shower of stars that would have made Drusilla proud, and the rush of concrete to catch him as he fell. Spike chuckled darkly as he stood, wiping the blood away from his lip. "Struck a nerve, then, did I?"

Spike dodged a second blow, and landed a sharp jab into Angel's stomach as he moved. "Not as hard as I did," Angel taunted him, giving Spike's split lip a meaningful look.

The two men traded blows in a flurry of fists that left bruises and the odd cut in their wake, but Spike danced away in time to avoid a round kick that probably would have taken his head off. There was no question that the taller man was more powerful, but so far Spike had been careful to stay out of reach of his heavier hits and to pepper him with a hail of much lighter, faster punches when he could.

"Feeling a little less cocky now, or would you like me to break your nose instead of bloodying it?" Spike taunted, after landing a good swing.

"I'm not cocky, Spike, I'm confident. You've always wanted what I have, and sometimes you manage to have them when I'm gone, but then you always lose when I come back."

"You know, Peaches, we've had this conversation before, out in the desert. Ended with me drinking flat Mountain Dew out of a bedazzled brandy snifter.

"I know what's really on your mind, even if you aren't man enough to admit it," Spike taunted him as he circled. "When you came back to Sunny Hell, found us together, you figured it had to be just because she couldn't be with you." Angel lunged, and Spike gave him a quick jab as they locked up. "It never occurred to you," he grunted against a hard fist that caught him in the brisket, "that she might actually care about me."

The two separated, out breath and aching, as Spike continued, "While you were happily, or not so happily, as the case may be, mooning over Cordelia, you expected little Buffy to still be pining for her lost hero.

"Meanwhile," and it ought to be illegal to enjoy a look as much as he enjoyed the one of sick rage on Angel's face, "your little Slayer grew up, turned into a helluva good woman, and you missed it." Spike locked eyes with him. "I didn't."

"Buffy didn't 'become' a hell of a woman," Angel snarled. "She always was one, even if you couldn't see it until you managed to get her in your bed."

"And that's where you're wrong. She was always a great fighter, but she only had potential back when I met her. And, it wasn't your tragic little tangle in the sheets made a woman of her. Girl walked into a battle against a god, knowing full well she wasn't walking out of it alive. _That_ made her a woman. It was having everything she'd ever wanted ripped away, and not letting it beat her that did it. And, contrary to popular belief, it wasn't pain or loneliness that drove Buffy into my arms. She needed a man strong enough to hold that for her, even if it was for only a few minutes."

"And you were the only one around," Angel reminded him with a cruel smile.

Spike shrugged, though the reminder that he'd only ever been a substitute for Angel stung him as deeply as it always did. "Not a lot of men in this world able to stand up to the task. Soldier Boy sure couldn't do it, hard as his corn-fed little heart tried. And don't underestimate being the only one around. Goes further with the girl than you think."

"I don't think it's enough to get you back in her pants anymore, anyway."

"Yeah, well whatever you're selling isn't enough either, and I'm willing to call that a win." Spike smirked.

"Oh, come on, Spike," Angel's switch into the cold, measured voice he associated with Angelus wasn't lost on Spike, "I know you want more than a draw, even if you won't admit it. And, I know you won't admit it because, deep down, you know you won't win."

"That's it then?" Spike asked him. It had been a while since he'd had the pleasure of having his flesh cut from the bone by his grandsire. "You think you're the big winner?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But it won't be you, Spike," Angel's voice stirred old memories, painful ones, at that. "You're beneath her."

Angel turned and walked away, but he wasn't heading in the direction of the bar, so Spike let him go. "I'm guessing the Groosalug has a better chance than you, you poncey bastard," he called after him. "Not better than me, though," he muttered under his breath, as Angel's laughter receded into the night.

* * *

><p>Xander was frustrated, and nothing that had happened since he'd heard about Gracie had made him less tense. He'd hurried back to Headquarters, only to find that there was absolutely nothing he could contribute to finding Buffy, except maybe a donut run for the people who might actually be able to figure that one out.<p>

It wasn't bad that he'd left, though; as much as he wanted to stay with Greg and be support-o guy, his time was better spent finding Gracie. Unfortunately, all of the Slayer teams were in the field, following other leads. As much as he wanted to pull them all from whatever they were working on to find the little girl, he knew their cases were just as important to the people who wouldn't die because of them. If, you know, the nearly-murdered _knew_ about them.

Footsteps followed him up the hallway; their echoed rhythm was faster, but the distance between them stayed more or less the same_. One of the girls,_ he guessed, _probably a Slayer, and they don't want to yap at me in the hallway._ Tuesday was the only girl he could think of that had a beef with him, and he steeled himself for the confrontation looming on not-so-distant horizon.

When she walked into his office, about ten seconds after he did, he was leaned against his desk, arms crossed, obviously waiting for her. Tuesday rarely wasted time with pleasantries, and this was no exception. "I heard there's a little girl missing, taken by demons."

Xander nodded. "Yeah, she's a friend of mine's niece. Good kid, named Gracie."

He didn't expect the softness that flashed across the Slayer's face, but her voice was hard as steel when she spoke, "Put me on the case."

"Tuesday-"

She cut him off. "I know what you're going to say, Boss. I understand the 'whys' for taking me off active duty, but you don't understand _me_. I ain't traumatized because I staked that guy. I'm mad as hell, but I ain't traumatized, and I don't have less respect for the sanctity of life, or any of that shit."

Tuesday took a deep breath, as if she expected to be talking for a while. "It's Angel's own fault he got staked. He knew what I was, he knew what I thought he was, and he didn't do better than a half-assed explanation that he wasn't a demon. Not only that, but he did everything he could to antagonize me. Who does that?"

"This might be my extreme dislike of Angel talking, but I don't disagree," Xander told her with a smirk.

"I'm not swearing I'd have listened, if he'd tried to explain. Maybe I'd have staked him anyway, and _then_ i'd have felt guilty. Maybe I'd need all this damn counseling y'all're trying to shove down my throat. But right now, there's a little girl needs my help, and there ain't a reason I can think of not to give it to her."

Xander closed his eye, trying to firm his resolve to do the right thing, play by the rules.

"I swear I won't ever tell anybody."

He lost the battle, then, reaching behind him to pick up a card off the desk. "This is the shrink we found for you. She's part demon, but don't stake her, unless you want to find out about the Slayer retirement package we haven't quite set up yet. She wants to see you once a week for the next month, but has cleared you for a probationary return to active duty. You met with her earlier today, but you didn't want to talk about it until it was official."

Tuesday grinned widely, something Xander had never seen before. It took the edge off the hard angles off her face, making her almost pretty. She took the card and slipped it into in her pocket. "I'm going to call the team. You mind bringing me up to speed when I'm done?" She turned away before he could reply, phone already in hand.

_Damned pushy Slayers_, Xander thought, irritation and amusement warring within him, _she's fresh out of the Slayer doghouse, and she's already acting like she's the boss._

Then Tuesday turned to him, and flashed him a cocky grin that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she was perfectly ok with that because, hey, she was going to save the day. Xander put on his serious face, steering the Slayer into the hallway. "Call me to the library when your team arrives," he told her curtly, closing the door in her shocked face with a click. He liked his girls confident, but if he let them, they'd act like a pack of hyenas. Hyenas were not a thing he wanted super-powered girls acting like. He'd been down that road far enough to know that that way lay principle-chomping madness, and he was the closest thing to school administration they had in Miami.

**Thanks again for reading! Please review, and please, please vote for me at the SunnyD Awards!**


	12. Stand Worlds Apart

**Thank you to everybody who voted for Turn the Hourglass Over at the SunnyD Awards. Tuesday was voted Best Original Character, and I can't tell you how chuffed I am about that! Of course, the nominations were pretty Spuffy-heavy this round, so people may have just liked that she staked Angel, but that was a mistake, as she would be quick to assure you. We're also nominated in several categories at the No Rest For the Wicked Awards on LiveJournal!  
><strong>

**As always, I'd like to thank The Imperfectionist for going over this with a fine-toothed comb, and to AllyPetals for listening to me beat my head against the wall in frustration. All song lyrics used come from Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) by Journey. It was suggested that this chapter needed a theme song to tie it all together, rather than a single quote at the beginning, as I've done with previous chapters. I think it's really fitting for this chapter, not only the lyrics, but the pace of the song, and the feeling of tension it carries. So, if you wanted to, say, YouTube it and listen while you start to read, that would be perfectly fine by me!**

* * *

><p><em>"Distant eyes, promises we made were in vain."<em>

_-Journey_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 12<em>

Hours later, when Dawn left headquarters, she found Buffy on the front stoop of their house, looking dazed. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes were torn, and the bit of bandage that still clung to her right hand was smeared with blood that had dried brown.

A few quick calls was all it took for the Scoobies to come running, though she was a little surprised that Spike and Angel weren't together. She'd thought they put aside their differences to concentrate on finding Buffy, but maybe she should have been shocked that they'd worked together as long as they had.

When Angel rushed through the door a few minutes later, he looked awful; bruises adorned his face, and he was pale, out of breath, and covered in sweat. Then, his eyes fell on Buffy, who held her arms out to him. She took one stumbling step into his arms, and his expression of relief at seeing her safe was so radiant it hurt to look at him. He pulled her close to him and held her, stroking her hair while she cried.

This time, Buffy remembered who she was, but had no memory of where she'd been before Dawn found her or how long she'd been sitting on the stoop. She was still shaky and disoriented when Spike appeared, equally battered, with a mug of soup that she practically inhaled.

Then, sirens began blaring in the distance, but instead of fading off into the night, they came ever closer, until Buffy insisted they go see what was happening. Spike reluctantly made his way to the door when he saw that the Slayer's mass exodus didn't apply to Angel, since she was still holding tight to The Great Ponce's hand. His jaw tightened at the sight, but he left without a word.

Outside, two police cars and an ambulance sat in the street. Officers tried to hold their neighbor, Mrs. Finch, away from her husband and the swarm of paramedics that surrounded him. Except for the paramedics, he was shielded from view by the bushes that lined the walkway between their garage and their house.

"He might have been there when I got home," Dawn realized with horror. "I was completely focused on Buffy… I should have noticed."

Xander put his arm around her shoulder, earning a sharp look from Spike, which he ignored, "It's not your fault, Dawnie. You can't blame yourself for whatever did that." The paramedics had him on a gurney now, and in the flashing light, they could see he'd been badly beaten.

"What's all the fuss? I thought the goal was to keep quiet about the supernatural stuff, not call the fuzz." Graham asked, joining the group. Dawn turned to him, and he was happy to see Xander's arm fall from her shoulders. _Good_, he thought, _not quite a romantic entanglement. Yet._

"Our neighbor found her husband on the lawn. Looks like somebody had a grudge," Dawn explained as they turned toward the house as the ambulance doors closed, taking Mr. and Mrs. Finch away.

"What do you mean 'grudge'?" Graham asked slowly.

"He looked like he went back for seconds at the all-you-can-beat buffet." Xander told him, climbing the stoop and walking through the door.

Graham cast a last look at the flashing lights, as the police investigated the crime scene, the gears of his mind turning. Twice, somebody had been found brutally beaten when Buffy returned from where ever she'd been. Two times was only a coincidence, he reminded himself. He hoped to god there wasn't a third.

* * *

><p>"Xander sent you." It wasn't a question, although Greg still had trouble with the idea that the woman in front of him could probably kick his ass, and then carry him to the hospital when she was done. She was tall and spare, and what stood out at him the most wasn't the well-muscled arms that looked like they'd done their share of hard work, or the wide, beautiful mouth that was moving, words pouring out in a husky melody. No, it was her eyes that captivated him. They were pretty, but haunted. He suspected she had a past she didn't talk about, but wondered if maybe all the Slayers had eyes like that. Didn't seem like a jump to think that if the Powers That Be meant to make you into a knife, they'd use force and fire to temper you.<p>

"You ok?" Tuesday peered at the man in front of her. He hadn't spoken since he greeted her, and she didn't have time to worry about him. Greg shook his head. "Yeah, sorry. Come on in," he shifted to the side, so that he wasn't blocking the door like a side of beef.

"Harris says he may have an idea why they took Gracie." Greg motioned her to the couch, while he sank into an armchair, settling on the chair's edge.

"We believe her mother was a Potential."

"Potential what? Sounds ominous. Christie had problems, but the girl was never that."

"Slayer." The word fell, like an anvil between them.

Greg rubbed his hand over his bald head. "So, if she hadn't died, she could have been like you?"

Tuesday folded her arms across her chest. She didn't really like sharing the Slayer lore with outsiders, but Gracie had a blood claim to it, and it was enough to justify giving up a few details. "Would have. There used to just be one, then there was two, and now there's all of us. Has been for a while now."

"What about Gracie? Is she going to be a Slayer?" Greg asked her. His mind raced, trying to figure how this new information affected his niece and how it could have gotten her snatched.

Tuesday shrugged, not unfeeling, but not sure how to respond, "Doesn't seem to be a lot of rhyme or reason to who has the Potential. There are a few families seem to crop up more often than usual, and could be that Gracie's from some long-forgotten branch of that family tree, but it don't much matter. We know they have her, and we're pretty sure we know why they targeted her. That's a pretty good lead. We've found people on less."

Greg stood, resolute. "What do I do to get my little girl back?"

"Right now? You stay here. I go find Gracie. It'd be good if you sent me with something of hers, might be able to track her with magic."

Greg glared at the Slayer, but he went and retrieved a threadbare stuffed rabbit from Gracie's bed. "Christie gave that to her. It was hers when she was a kid. Thought it might be more…" he fished for a word, "connected than some of the newer stuff."

Tuesday took the little toy, her fingers brushing against his as she did. "Thanks. Anybody asks," she jerked her head in the direction of the police officers still milling around, "we took this for a prayer meeting." She turned and left abruptly. What was the use of formalities when there was work to be done that was more important?

Still, for some reason, her feet wouldn't budge past the doorway, almost the inverse of a vampire's inability to cross a threshold uninvited. She looked over her shoulder at Greg to say goodbye, and was surprised at the steely determination in his eyes. That, she reckoned, was respectable enough; usually she only saw horror, fear, or that blank look they get when they just couldn't cope with what was in front of them. "We'll find her," she promised, and her feet must have decided that was good enough, because she left the house with long strides, the rabbit cradled in her arms.

* * *

><p>"<em>Sleepless nights, losing ground, I'm reaching for you"<em>

_-Journey  
><em>

* * *

><p>Angel couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't really keep his hands off her, either. He'd started innocently enough; holding her hand and brushing the hair back from her face. Then, somehow he was next to her with his arm around her shoulder and she was tucked safely against him. Inch by inch she relaxed into his embrace, until, finally she fell asleep with a little sigh. Best of all, when Spike found them, he offered a glare that promised death before he stormed from the room with his jaw clenched so that little muscle jumped out. Buffy never even woke up.<p>

It was petty, he knew, but humanity seemed to come with all sorts of little flaws. Apparently, listening to Spike talk about Buffy like he was Slayer Whisperer while Angel had been little more than a teething ring seemed to bring them all out at once. He wasn't proud, but he wasn't particularly bothered by it either.

Angel relished the heat of Buffy, _his_ Buffy, against his body. He closed his eyes, enjoying the way her warmth carried the scent of her shampoo, and that other scent that was uniquely hers and had always called to something deep inside him. Angel relaxed into sleep so slowly he didn't even realize it, lulled by the rhythm of their hearts beating in tandem. His arms held her tight against him, and his body wound around hers; a barrier against whatever might try to cause her harm.

* * *

><p><em>"Feelin' that it's gone can change your mind."<em>

__-Journey__

* * *

><p>Graham hated that his place of solace was the library. Unfortunately, his time in Miami was still easily measurable in hours. He hadn't had time to find a good pub, let alone an apartment, and hotels had always sent his brain into overdrive. It was that they were all unbearably similar, though not identical, with all their routines and policies that were designed to achieve exactly the same goals, but were unique to each establishment.<p>

He was glad Buffy had been found and that she was reasonably safe and well. The intensity of his concern was staggering, given the brief time he'd known her and their lack of relationship. Graham reasoned to himself that it must be the Watcher/Slayer bond already beginning.

He knew that she'd never accept him as her Watcher in the same way she had Mr. Giles. He would have to wedge himself into _her_ life, adapt to _her_ ways, though tradition dictated the opposite. Since her methods had led to her being the longest-lived Slayer on record, even taking into account the time she wasn't alive, he couldn't see the problem with that.

Graham held out little hope that whatever had a hold of her would take her twice, only to then leave her alone. No, he decided, it's just a matter of time until she's gone again. So, hour after hour, he sat, researching, flipping through books, his mind compiling theories, and dismissing them just as quickly. He had too much information for any of them to stand, but not enough to formulate one that would.

He was bouncing a blue ball against a bare section of wall, staring at the dry erase board covered with his scrawl. Facts, ideas, and possibilities he'd been over a hundred times stared back at him, willing his mind to come up with _something_ when the library doors opened, and Tuesday's team strode into the room.

She nodded in greeting, and paused long enough to ask about Buffy, then turned immediately to her work. They were looking for a girl, it seemed, taken by demons for nefarious reasons.

_Aren't we all,_ he wondered, thinking of his own girl – his Slayer – also taken for God knew what purpose. With a sigh, he pocketed his ball and picked up a new tome.

* * *

><p>"<em>If you must go, I wish you love, you'll never walk alone"<em>

__-Journey__

* * *

><p>Angel opened his eyes, looking for Buffy, but found only the soft indention her body had made in the still-warm covers. He frowned and sat up, but the room was calm and still in the dim light from the pretty lamp on Buffy's nightstand.<p>

He pushed himself to his feet, and saw the Team Sunnydale photograph on her dresser. There were so few reminders left of her life in California, and none of them seemed to include him. He thought of the photographs he had stashed safely in LA; he'd taken nothing he wouldn't mind losing with him to Wolfram & Hart, except his people, but that was a set of regrets he didn't have time to think about right now.

Somewhere, in the Hyperion, were pictures from her prom. Aside from their formal shots, Willow had taken dozens of pictures throughout the night, and had brought him a copy of each of them before graduation. Someday, he'd like to return them.

Angel padded down the hallway, and checked the restroom for signs of Buffy, but she was nowhere to be found. When he walked into the kitchen, Spike stood, his jaw still tight, hands curled into fists at his side.

"Where's Buffy?" he asked, voice low.

"She's not here?" Angel asked, his heart plummeting as the shocked, then worried expressions on everybody's face told him everything he needed to know.

The room was completely silent for a heartbeat, then Spike snarled, "_Bloody hell,_" and slammed his hand against the counter. Dawn jumped and Xander's arm tightened around her waist, while Willow looked at them sickly, fear churning in her stomach.

"Get to Headquarters soon as you can," Spike told her, using all of his control to keep from screaming. "Get the Bookman back to work on this, suss it out."

"I'm going with her," Dawn said, chin jutting out at a stubborn angle, arms folded across her chest.

"You sure you're up to it?" Angel asked her, remembering how broken up she'd been the first time Buffy disappeared.

"I'm way over the boo-hooing. Now, I'm pissed. We find this thing; you guys kick its butt. Deal?" Dawn's voice was steely, and her eyes flashed in anger.

"Best sodding plan I've heard so far, Nibblet," Spike told her, watching as she, Willow, and Xander filed out the door.

"You think they'll figure it out in time?" Angel asked after the door closed behind them.

"I hope so, mate. I bloody well hope so."

* * *

><p>"<em>Troubled times, caught between confusion and pain."<em>

__-Journey__

* * *

><p>"Have you considered a Timini demon?" Graham asked Andy from two tables over. He couldn't help but overhear their research, and a corner of his brain he wished he could force back to Buffy had started churning over their leads as well as his own.<p>

Andy glowered at him, but Tuesday asked, "What's a Timini? Never heard of one."

"No, of course not." Graham hated how stuffy he sounded. It was the damn accent. How did people like Spike manage to sound cool when they talked about this stuff, while he sounded like Mr. Giles? "They're not often in this dimension. In fact, the last time we know of was in the 1600s. Timini are masters of temporal distortion, and visually, a temporal distortion affects light much like a heat wave. When the light bends, a Timini can use it to create an illusion of sorts, but like any illusion, it's flawed. Greg must have been in exactly the right place at the right time, and was able to momentarily see its true face."

"But what would one of these Timini demons want with Gracie?" Andy asked, his animosity towards Graham momentarily forgotten in the interest of finding the little girl.

"Nothing good," Graham told him soberly, rising to pull a book from a nearby shelf and thumbing through it until he found the proper page. "According to the 1689 edition of Farrman's Demonologie, their ability to create temporal distortions and temporal folds makes them especially good at the creation of chimera. If Gracie was targeted because she is the child of a Potential Slayer…"

"Then they think she's physically capable of withstanding whatever they're planning," Tuesday finished grimly.

"Her blood," Jenn, the Wicca, piped up for the first time. "It's a tenuous connection, but Gracie's connected by blood to the Source."

Graham's brows knitted while he shuffled through the information in his brain, but he couldn't recall what Source Jenn might be talking about. "I'm sorry, but I don't know to which Source you are referring."

Andy's smirk was infuriating. "There's something the Great Graham isn't an expert on? My god, what's the world coming to?"

"It's a fairly new concept," Jenn explained, shyly. "When the Mother was able to use the Slayer-General's scythe to activate the Potential Slayers, it was because she was able to feel the Source of the Slayers powers through it. She said it was as though they all had a line into the Source, but only the Slayer-General and the Colonel Slayer," she referred to Faith by her title, "were actually drawing from it. She just made it so they were all drawing from it at once."

"Brilliant. Does she have any idea from where the Source came? Is it a finite resource?" he asked her eagerly.

"Having all the Potentials tapped into it doesn't seem to have made a noticeable change to the level of the Source, but there's so much of it that we have no idea whether it's self-renewing or just really vast. And, the Source is the power of a demon, trapped, purified, and funneled into the Slayer."

"If y'all can stop playing brainiac and get back to Gracie?" Tuesday snapped at them. "We need to figure out what these creeps want with her."

"In the vaguest terms," Graham told her gravely, "I think they want to _make_ her into something. I just don't know what."

* * *

><p>The knock at the door was short and curt. It demanded to be answered, and Greg rose to obey, ignoring the nearly-crippling fear that the police had returned with bad news. Instead, he opened the door and found Tuesday waiting impatiently with an ancient book in her arms. He swung the door open, but she cut him off before he could speak.<p>

"Is this the demon you saw while you were waiting for Gracie?" she shoved the book beneath his nose. He took the book from her hands and adjusted it so he could see the engraving more clearly.

"Yeah," he said after he examined it, "that's as close a drawing as I think you could get."

"What do you mean?" she snapped at him, "Either it is or it ain't."

"That's it alright," Greg crossed his arms, refusing to rise to the bait, "and if you'd ever seen one of those things in the flesh, you'd know exactly what I meant."

"So what _do_ you mean?"

Greg gave her a long, cold look, "Look, lady, if I was a physicist I could probably describe it better, but I'm not. I'm a builder, and all the only way I know to describe it is like one of those pictures that come closer or get further away depending on how you focus your eyes. You can't understand what I'm sayin', find someone to translate."

The sudden shift in Greg's demeanor, from desperate to bear-like, solidified Tuesday's grudging respect for the man. "You were lucky to have seen the slip in the temporal disturbance around the demon. It's the biggest break we've had so far. Soon as we have a little more information about what we're walking into, we'll use that bunny to do a locator spell, see if we can find out where they're holding her." She turned back towards the door, her mind already anticipating the fight ahead.

Greg's blood began a slow boil. He could live with the woman's attitude and bad manners, if she found Gracie, but hearing that they hadn't even started trying to find his niece was his breaking point. His hand shot out of its own volition and clasped her shoulder. "You mean to tell me, you haven't even tried to find her yet?"

Tuesday froze, her entire body stiffening at the unexpected touch. "Take that hand off me, 'less you want to lose it."

"Look, I know you're a badass, lady, but the best horse isn't worth a tinker's damn if it don't leave the barn. You got better things to do? Fine. Point me in the right direction." His hand fell from her shoulder slowly, telling her without words that he was moving it because he'd made his point, not because of her threat.

Greg's hand had demanded her attention, but he hadn't squeezed or tried to force her to turn around. The realization earned him a little leeway, and she turned to face him with her arms crossed so that the book was clenched against her chest. "Running in blind when there's another option gets people killed. Believe me, I'll be glad when I get the green light. I ain't much use in a library, and I want to get your little girl back almost as bad as you do. Right now we think we know why they want her, and as soon as we find out who all's going to be at their shindig, we'll crash it."

"What should I bring with me? Rifle? Brass knuckles and a ball bat? What works against demons?"

Tuesday goggled at him. She thought she had him pegged for more brains than Harris. "I ain't gonna pretend to have any idea why you think you're going with me," she told him, trying to keep from laughing at him, "but it ain't happening."

"Like hell it ain't. I'll be the first to admit it took me a little time to find my balls after Gracie came up missing, but if you think I'm going to just sit here and wait for you to bring her back, you're crazy." He growled, and reached into her space to grab the doorknob and wrench the door open. He strode past Tuesday to his truck, reached into the bed and came back with a heavy tow chain about four feet long with a hook at one end that he used to buckle it over his shoulder like a bandolier before grabbing his tool belt. He dumped the nails and small tools it held into the bed without ceremony, and buckled it around his waist so that it rode low on his hips.

"What the hell is that thing?" Tuesday motioned to the belt, and to the two heavy tools hanging from loops on either side.

"What? The hammer?" Greg asked her, playing dumb. "You use a stake, I use a hammer. It's what I'm comfortable with."

"I meant the other one, smartass." Tuesday glowered.

"Truckman axe," he told her and pulled the wicked-looking tool from his belt so that the light glinted dully off its curved blade and the two spikes that protruded from the back. "They're used for demolition work. Firefighters love 'em."

"You're a fireman?" she asked him skeptically.

"Volunteer only. I left the force when my brother died." He slid the tool back into his belt loop, not meeting her eyes. "It's not as impressive as being a Vampire Slayer, but people need protecting and it was my job. Right now, _Gracie_ needs protecting, and that's the only thing that matters."

Tuesday chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't need, or particularly want his help but she understood something about this man. He'd loved being a fireman, but he walked away when Gracie needed him. Greg took care of his people and if he couldn't be there to help save her now, it would change something inside him. She knew from experience that decent men were few and far between and she wasn't going to be the ruin of this one. "You might not make it back," she warned him, knowing it wouldn't deter him.

"Nature of the beast,_"_ he agreed and fell into step beside her.

"Right," she agreed flatly, "now, let's go knock some demon heads together, see if we can scare up some information."

* * *

><p>Hours later, Graham intercepted a call that came across the police scanner about a nearly catatonic woman found wandering through an alleyway. He reported the address to Angel and Spike, the pair closest to her location before grabbing his coat and hurrying out into the night.<p>

Buffy didn't seem to notice the gentle hands that led her home, but she didn't fight them, either. Her eyes were blank in a way that reminded Spike of that first night she was back, when it was all too much for her. _God_, he worried as he took in the sight of her disheveled appearance, the bruises, and the blood_, what the bloody hell has hold of her and what are they doing?_

Angel was reminded, shamefully, of Dru in the hours before he'd turned her and sealed her forever inside her madness. In the place where his demon should have howled in glee, there was only a white-hot rage. When he found whatever was doing this, he would destroy it, as brutally as his human body was able, whatever the cost.

Graham kept to the shadows until he was certain he wouldn't cross paths with his Slayer or her escorts. Only a few blocks from where Buffy had been spotted wandering aimlessly, he found what he was looking for: a young woman beaten and unconscious partially concealed inside a bus shelter. The bruises and lacerations were small enough to have been left by a fist and brutal enough to have been the work of a Slayer.

With a heavy heart, Graham dialed 9-1-1 from the woman's cell phone and left the area as inconspicuously as possible.

* * *

><p>"<em>Here we stand. Worlds apart, hearts broken in two."<em>

__-Journey__

* * *

><p>"Why are we casting spells in a padded room?" Greg asked doubtfully as he looked around at the small dark room that Jenn was carefully preparing for her spell. The locator spell had fizzled almost as soon as she'd cast it, and now she was going to attempt to use the blood connection between Greg and Gracie to let him connect to her for a few moments. With any luck at all, it would allow them to figure out where she was.<p>

"It's not a padded room," she smiled patiently. "Not technically, at least. The walls are padded because sometimes a novice Wiccan's spells can get a little… unpredictable, and the floor is designed for easy clean up. You wouldn't believe how much time your average Wiccan spends sweeping up salt and sand and chicken's feet."

"Right," he replied nervously, sitting inside one of the ornate circles on the floor near from the bunny. Jenn sat cross-legged with a hand on each, almost as though she were a conductor between the two. Tuesday and Andrew waited in the safe viewing area, behind what appeared to be a very thick piece of glass, set high in the wall.

With a last comforting smile and an encouraging pat on the knee, Jenn began to chant. After a few minutes, the lethargy that had crept into Greg's limbs was replaced with a shot of adrenaline and fear. He was tied to a stone table and the bindings cut into his wrists, but a pillow had been placed under his head. Rock towered around him and over him and he could hear at least three voices saying something that sounded like pig Latin, only scary. He could smell something sweet in the air; it reminded him of cotton candy, but he'd smelled it for so long it made his stomach hurt. The man with a scary face leaned over him and made a bunch of funny movements with his hands over her chest, close enough that sometimes his long fingernails actually touched him and tickled. He giggled and the man gave him a weird look and put one of his hands over his eyes, pushing him back.

The soft floor met his head with a swift _whump_ and the cave was gone, replaced with the dark room and Jenn's worried face. An instant later, Tuesday fell to her knees beside him and helped him sit up. "She's in a cave and I think there are at least three or four of them. I could hear three voices and I could see the scary man. They haven't hurt her," he gasped, heart pounding as if he'd run a mile. "They've got her in a cave somewhere, but they haven't hurt her."

"I hate to be the voice of doom, but there are thousands of caves in this country. She could be anywhere," Andy told them grimly, sorry for the pained look on Greg's face.

Jenn tapped a finger against her pursed lips, "No, I think they'd stay close. They'll need the dark energy from the Hellmouth for whatever they're trying to do."

Andy led the way to the library, "I'm confident there are no caves in Miami, but we'll see if there is something that might look similar to one somewhere. Maybe there's an unfinished bit of sewer or something. If it's here, I'll find it." He plopped down at the first computer terminal he came to and began his search.

"Well, I was mostly right," Andy announced after only a few minutes. "There aren't any caves in Miami, but there used to be. Sort of."

"I ain't got time for riddles, Andy," Tuesday growled softly.

"I think we're looking for Lost Lake Caverns. It was more of a glorified sinkhole than a legitimate cave, but it was close enough to have been a tourist trap until the fifties. Then, there was a big fire and the whole thing closed. Eventually, they decided it was a public nuisance and it was demolished and the whole thing was built over," he explained.

"But, you think there's still an entrance to whatever remains, and that it might be a gathering place for demons?" Jenn guessed.

"I think," Andy spoke slowly, wiping a hand across his face, "it might be the entrance to the Hellmouth."

"Wait, you mean to tell me there's an entry to Hell here in Miami and you people don't know where it is?" Greg asked incredulously.

"Finding the exact point where the barrier between this plane and the next is the thinnest is pretty tough, Greg," Jenn explained. "And, mostly, it doesn't matter. The energy the Hellmouth gives off has a fairly large area of effect and most demons wouldn't even know exactly where the Hellmouth is."

"You got a location for me?" Tuesday ignored the explanations and crossed the room to take the slip of paper Andy held out to her.

"That's the neighborhood you're looking for. Your Slayer sense should help you figure out where to go once you're there," he told her.

"You guys did good. Take a break and I'll see you when I get back," Tuesday's voice was gruff, but the look the three shared was warm.

"We'll wait for you," Jenn promised. "In case you need some backup, or something."

"Go get the girl," Andy smiled encouragingly, "be a hero."

Tuesday smiled, the big smile that took away the sharp edges of her face and Greg couldn't help but stare. "Don't I always?"

* * *

><p>"You ok?" Xander asked Dawn and rubbed her shoulders gently while she pored over a book.<p>

"I'm fine," she told him quietly, "but I wish Graham was here." Xander's hands dropped from her back and he stared at the back of her head sickly. She turned in her chair to look at him, "I mean, isn't he supposed to be her Watcher, or did I hallucinate that whole meeting with Giles?"

Xander smiled, relieved that she was only thinking of the too-suave, too-smart, unfortunately handsome, scruffy-yet-sensitive guy with an accent as her sister's Watcher. "I actually have my fingers crossed that the past week has been one extended mass hallucination."

Dawn snorted. "One of these days, you're going to have to man up and admit that Angel and Spike are actually here, probably for good. Denial only turns you into one of those crazy axe-murderers you see in bad movies."

"So does extended proximity to Deadboy and Captain Peroxide. I'm doomed either way, so I might as well enjoy the non-axe-murdering time I have left with a healthy dose of pretending this is all a really bad dream." He dropped into the seat besides her with a lopsided grin.

Dawn rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. "Yeah, well, on the upside, if we don't find Buffy, they probably won't stick around," she told him drily and slid a book his way.

"That's not even funny by my admittedly low and tasteless standards," he told her and opened the book. Before he began to read, he reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "We're going to find her, Dawn."

She returned the squeeze, but didn't look away from the page she was reading, "I know."

* * *

><p>"<em>If you must go, I wish you love. You'll never walk alone."<em>

__-Journey__

* * *

><p>The fourth time Buffy vanished, neither Angel nor Spike panicked. This time it happened while they were watching and she vanished over the space of a few heartbeats, but there was nothing they could do to keep her with them.<p>

Grimly, Spike called Graham to let the others know.

"Will you and Angel be patrolling, hoping to happen across her?" he asked, not sure what he was hoping the answer would be.

"No, we're going to hit the library for a few hours, see if we can help you lot suss out the situation. We'll take to the streets when there's a chance of finding her."

"Right," he swallowed, "When you, that is when _both_ of you arrive, there's something I think the, er _Scoobies_," he tried the group's self-given title, but felt like a fool both for saying it aloud and for presuming that he would be considered one of them, "that is the _group_ should address."

Spike frowned into the phone. "That doesn't sound promising, Bookman. What happened?"

"Possibly nothing," Graham told him hastily, "and I think it's best discussed in person. As a team." He was able to say team with a straight face. He _was_ a part of Buffy's team, formally.

"Right," Spike agreed flatly, ignoring the questioning look on Angel's face. "We'll be there in ten." He snapped the phone shut and slid it into his pocket.

"What was that all about?" Angel asked as they made their way to the door.

"No buggering idea, mate, but it didn't sound good, whatever it is."

"Does it ever?" he asked, wryly, thinking back over the years and coming up empty-handed.

"Not usually, 'least where the Slayer or her pet friends are concerned." Spike confirmed.

Angel sighed, "I have a very bad feeling about this."

"That's because it's bloody likely to end up a disaster, innit?" Spike asked him as he stepped into the night.

* * *

><p>Tuesday had to admire the man crouched slightly behind her. They were looking down into a tableau from hell, and except for a reflexive gulp, he hadn't budged an inch. Torches flickered light across a half dozen pairs of demons. Each pair was different and featured an assortment of tentacles, slime, and spikes were chanting around Gracie. The thick scent of incense filled the air with a haze and the occasional rumble from the Hellmouth made the ground beneath them roll like waves on a choppy sea.<p>

Greg frowned when Tuesday pulled a tiny camera out of her pocket and began to snap pictures from behind their cover. "You taking pictures for the Slayer yearbook or something?"

The corner of Tuesday's mouth quirked into something resembling a smile as she slipped the camera back into her pocket and pulled a sword out of the long, black gym bag she'd concealed it in while they were trying to find the entrance to the Hellmouth. "Andy ain't gonna figure out what they wanted Gracie for if he don't know who's here or what the ritual looked like and we may need to know. Those things been chanting a while, and there may be some magic needs undoing." Almost as if to punctuate her point, one of each of demon pairs took a ceremonial knife from their belts and used it stab into their counterparts.

As the stabbed demons fell, their blood sprayed in a fountain onto Gracie, who screamed in terror. Tuesday felt Greg tense beside her, but before he could vault over her and into the fray, she grabbed his arm. "Get Gracie and get out. Kill anything between you, but don't fight any more than you have to. That's for me." Without waiting for his reply, Tuesday spun and charged into battle.

The element of surprise was on her side, and with a mighty swing, she severed the head of the demon closest to her, a humanoid that looked as though he'd been created from sharp shards of rock. Even as his head fell onto the dirt, his lipless mouth continued to move and Tuesday hoped that the lack of sound meant that he wasn't still casting the spell.

Greg smiled when his first swing buried his axe deeply into the shoulder of a piscine demon. When it turned to look at him, its expression was one of shock, then anger before a second blow across its temple ended it. He spared a moment to look at the fallen demon and swallowed against his suddenly sour stomach. The world swam in front of him, then Gracie's cries snapped him out of his stupor, and he moved to dispatch the demon separating them.

This one was ready for him and as it charged he brought the axe to bear, slamming it into the demon's unremarkable chest. With a sickening _squelch_ he pulled it out of the gaping hole he'd just created and buried it a second time. Again and again, he chopped into its chest until it lay still. He spared a glance to Tuesday to see her third fall to the ground, one of its arms partially severed by a wound that ran deeply into its chest. Green blood poured from the wound, but she didn't seem to notice as she fluidly pulled her sword free, attention already on her last opponent.

She wheeled around to face it and narrowly avoided a vicious kick to her ribs while looking for an opening to slide her blade into his chest. The demon was serpentine with luminous green eyes and even unarmed it was proving to be a dangerous opponent. Her every thrust was foiled when the demon moved its body with sinuous speed around her sword. Every failed swing ended with a hard blow to her head, until she was starting to feel dizzy from them.

She could see past the demon to where Greg was cutting his niece free and pulling her into his arms. _Good, _she thought, _if I can just keep this one busy a few more minutes, they should be able to get away._ Pulling on the last of her strength, she pressed her attack with renewed vigor. The brutal pace seemed to pay off when her sword hit home, slicing deeply into his arm. Then, the demon smiled, taking the opportunity to move past her blade, his hands on her neck.

In the instant before Tuesday expected her neck to snap, the demon stiffened for just a second. That moment was all it took for her to make her move and she shoved her blade into his throat. He fell and convulsed, a bubble of dark blood at his lips, and Tuesday saw that her salvation had been the axe buried in the back of the demon's head.

"Come on; let's get the hell out of here!" Greg grabbed her with the arm that wasn't holding Gracie and pulled her behind them.

Tuesday didn't argue with him and she shocked herself by not letting go of Greg's hand. Instead she pounded out of the cave with a wide smile across her face.

* * *

><p>All in all, Tuesday decided as she walked from Greg's house to Headquarters alone, she felt pretty damn good about today. There was a lot of washing demon gore out of your hair when you slayed, and sometimes it took a few days for the smell to go away, but seeing people safe and families reunited made it all worthwhile.<p>

Then she stopped picking her way across the park, her eyes on the silhouette of a slight guy standing in a pool of light from a streetlamp. She couldn't tell anything about him, except that he seemed to slouch a bit and that he was completely still as he watched her pull a stake from her pocket. Inhumanely still.

"Hey," a rough voice called out in greeting, "you really don't need that."

Tuesday took a few steps closer, and her Slayer senses confirmed what she'd already guessed: not quite human. Still, the features that she was able to make out now that she was only a couple arms' length away didn't look demonic.

"Seriously, just put the stake away before somebody gets hurt," he tried again, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. When he did, she saw a wrist full of intricately looped beads and could practically _smell_ the magic coming off it.

"I ain't sure what you are, but I know it ain't human, and I know you're using magic, so let me ask you this: You gonna bleed if I follow my gut and put this," she brandished the stake, "in your chest?"

"Well, yeah," he deadpanned, "but only for a few seconds. After that, it's more of a lack of bleeding you notice."

Tuesday grimaced. "Great, another one. So, tell me, if I kill you is the Slayer-General going to be upset and take me off active duty, or is she going to give me a medal?"

"Depends on who that is, I guess."

"But I thought all the underworld scum knew about her. She's legendary. Or so they keep telling us," she said dryly.

He shrugged, and she was close enough now to see ginger hair in spikes atop his head. "I get a lot of legends in my world. I'm gonna need a name."

Tuesday groaned inwardly. "Do all y'all weirdos have to be mouthy all the time? Just once, I'd like a straight answer, or to not have to hear a bad pun."

The man, and Tuesday wasn't sure how she felt about classifying him as one, looked at her expectantly.

"Buffy Summers. The Slayer-General's name is Buffy Summers."

The corner of his mouth raised a fraction of an inch for a moment. "Bad puns? Huh. She must have lost her touch. We only made good puns back in the day."

Tuesday dropped her hands in resignation."So, what are you? Reformed demon? Recent zombie? Don't tell me you're a ghost."

"No, I'm not that exotic. I'm only a werewolf. Name's Oz." He held out a hand, relieved not to be looking down the proverbial barrel anymore.

Tuesday seemed dumbfounded as she took his hand. "There are werewolves? Seriously? What, did I just miss that day?"

"Wish I had."

"Yeah, well, come on, I'll take you back to headquarters."

* * *

><p>"<em>If he ever hurts you, true love won't desert you."<em>

__-Journey__

* * *

><p>Graham paced before the assembled group, wishing any one of the half dozen speeches he rehearsed had stuck. He was about to address the people closest to the Slayer-General – one of whom was arguably the most powerful woman in the world – to tell them that there was a distinct possibility that whatever had taken Buffy was causing her to harm innocent civilians. All in all, he considered it a terrible time for his great giant brain to let him down.<p>

"Buffy has disappeared thrice now and all our research indicates that each time she has left our dimension," he began timidly.

"You keep using words like thrice when you lecture us and I'm going to stop calling you the 'Bookman' and settle on 'Giles Junior'," Spike warned.

The muffled snickers only cut the rooms tension by a fraction, but Graham was grateful for the break. "Right. Less stuff, more cool, then," he muttered under his breath. "Every time Buffy has come back from wherever the bloody hell she's been somebody has been found within a city block of her severely beaten. The damage is consistent with very small fists and I think we need to consider the possibility that at least for short bursts of time, the Slayer-General is being controlled by another entity."

The room erupted into chaos, which was slightly more intimidating than the shocked silence he'd been hoping for. His heart sank at the sight of Dawn glaring daggers at him, arms folded across her chest, but his attention was ripped away by a rough hand on his shoulder.

"You're wrong," Spike growled, jaw clenched. "Now get that giant brain of yours back into the books and figure out where the Slayer's gone."

Willow tried in vain to be heard above the din, but it was Xander that finally managed to stop the cacophony, interrupting in a loud voice, "Maybe he's right. Three days ago, I never would have believed it. Then again three days ago, I would have been sure that a demon managing to get a hold of Buffy, take her against her will, and send her back in the state she's been in was impossible, too. Shut up, all of you. Let the man speak."

"I'm afraid there isn't much to add," Graham told them. "We're no closer to figuring out the where or the why of Buffy's disappearances and without that, we know nothing."

"Say it's true-" Xander began, but Spike interrupted bitterly.

"It's not true."

"Say it's true," Xander started again, ignoring the former vampire. "What can we even do about it?"

"We keep it from happening again," Angel spoke for the first time since the Graham began. "There has to be some way of restraining her until we've broken the hold over her."

"I thought you've _been_ trying to keep Buffy from dematerializing?" Graham asked, confused.

"Peaches isn't just talking about trying to keep her here, Bookman," Spike realized with a sick feeling. "He wants to make sure she can't do anything while she's gone. Leave the Slayer helpless in a demon dimension."

Angel turned to Spike, already anticipating the challenge that would follow. "You know it's the only thing we can do."

"I do _not,"_ Spike insisted. "I don't know what's happening to these people but it's not _her._ Slayer's not capable of it, and I won't let her be treated like a bloody bludger."

"Spike, stop," Angel ground out, his voice harsh. "You don't get extra brownie points for blind devotion."

"Nothing blind about my devotion. Slayer earned it right and proper." He narrowed his eyes at his grandsire.

"Spike, just this once, take your own ego out of this and think about Buffy. We can't let her kill somebody. You know what that does to somebody's soul. You know what it did to Faith," Angel tried to reason with him.

"Faith's soul was cracked long before she went on her little killing spree," Spike told him flatly, "and the fact you think that could even happen to Buffy shows how little you know the Slayer."

"I know Buffy well enough to know that she'd want us to take every precaution possible to keep somebody from getting hurt," Angel snapped.

"No, _you'd_ want us to take every precaution to keep _you_ from hurting somebody, 'cause you can't always keep from it. Slayer's not like us. She's _good_ inside and out. There's no place for that kind of evil to find purchase in her soul. There are plenty of dark corners in there, but none of them are capable of harming an innocent," Spike argued back.

"I'm not worried that something has hold of her soul, Spike. I'm worried it has control of her hands and her feet, and that even if she doesn't know what she's doing, she'll find out. I won't let that happen to her." Angel turned on his heel to leave the room, but Spike cut in front of him and blocked his way.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he spat. "Big, bad Angel going to make the hard decisions, take free will out of somebody's hands again because he knows best?"

"If I have to, yes."

"What gives you the right?" Spike blazed.

"I don't have the right," his voice rose as he squared off against his grandchilde. "I have the responsibility. If there is even a chance that Buffy could be doing something that would cause her pain in the long run, I have to keep it from happening. Even if she hates me for it. I can handle that if I have to, but I can't handle even the _possibility _that something could jeopardize her soul." He looked at the blond man with cold appraisal, before continuing in a low voice, "You may be great in a fight, Spike, but when it comes to doing the right thing, you aren't the guy." Angel stepped around the blond man, and resumed his march to the door.

Spike waited until Angel was nearly to the door before he spoke, and when he did, he was calm and his voice was sure. "This isn't the right thing. _It's_ wrong, _you're_ wrong. Slayer's earned your trust, all of you lot, time and again, but you never give it to her. How many times have you broken faith with her? You judge her like she was one of you, like she had your petty weaknesses, but you never give her credit for what she is. She's the best of us. High time you acted like it."

Angel didn't answer, and a long minute after the door closed, Spike raised his head to look at the rest of the team. "If any one of you wants to do something to Buffy against her will, you'll have to go through me, and you have my word it'll be the worst thing you've ever faced." Graham felt glad again that he wasn't being confronted by Spike a few weeks previous. If human Spike's warning could make his blood run cold, he was certain that vampire Spike would terrify him into doing something humiliating.

"But, Spike," Willow tried to reason. "What if Angel's right. What if this is the right thing to do for her?"

"Then she'll ask us to do it. If she doesn't ask for your interference, you go through me. Am I clear?" Spike didn't wait for the others to agree with him before he swept into the night, determined to find Buffy before Angel did.

Without a word, Oz rose from where he'd been sitting in the back watching with his usual stoicism and followed Spike out the door.

"Oz?" Willow asked, the word falling plaintively from her lips.

"Bizarre as this is to say: I'm with Spike on this one. It's kind of an ethical thing. You can't cage wolves – or people – against their will," he told her gently.

"So, you just leave them out to slaughter the innocent, because, what, it's their right?" Xander asked, incredulous.

"No," he told him, firmly, before walking out the door, "you let them choose if they're men or monsters and you act accordingly. I'm going to help Spike do the right thing and if the world doesn't end on that note, I'll see you guys later."

"Yeah, well, this might be another sign that the universe is on the brink of collapse, but I'm with Deadboy. There's no way Buffy wouldn't want us to stop her and if that's not true, I don't want to know about it." Without a backwards glance, Xander, too left the library.

After a moment of stunned silence, Dawn rose and also made her way to the door.

"Dawn? Where are you going?" Graham called softly to her, concerned that the confrontation may have been too much for her, but when she turned to him, her eyes were fierce.

"I'm going to find my sister and make sure those two idiots don't get to use her in their own personal vendettas." Her gaze softened at the concern in his eyes, and she smiled back at him. "I'm ok, Graham, really."

There was a long minute of silence after she left before Graham spoke. "Is it always this dramatic around here?" he asked Willow, the only person besides himself that hadn't swept out the door in one degree or another of righteousness.

"Not always," she told him eyebrows still pushed together in a worried frown. "Day like today? Must be a Tuesday."

* * *

><p><em>"Someday love will find you. Break those chains that bind you."<em>

__-Journey__

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><p><strong>AN: Bludger, according to my Google Fu was Victorian slang for a violent criminal, and Spike being a remnant of the Victorian age, it seemed fitting enough to use. I was not implying that Buffy lives off the hard work of others, or that she has ever earned a living by peddling her Slayers' charms and attentions. Although, I'm sure there's a nasty AU idea in there somewhere.**

**This chapter kicked mine booty. Not having a strictly written outline or timeline for this arc came back to haunt me when I realized I had written myself into a corner. I'm not going to tell you the parts that I screwed up, but suffice it to say there were some plot points that I meant to introduce and didn't, or just went in a different direction entirely, leaving me in a bad place when it came to write extremely important parts of this chapter. This is why not writing with a story bible isn't something I've attempted before, and why I won't do it again. Experiment failed. On the plus side, I have a really good outline for About Tomorrow already penned, so hopefully I won't have that same problem. I'll be able to find a new problem!**

**Thank you to everybody who's read this story so far, followed or favorited, or reviewed. You truly mean the world to me.**


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